' 


LI     O  A  "nO/^I  IF* 

ri .  o/ArCovJUrv. 


METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 


KING    PHILIP 


METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

BEING  A  NARRATIVE  OF  CERTAIN  SURPRISING 
ADVENTURES  BEFALLING  ONE  DAVID  LINDALL 
IN  THE  FIRST  YEAR  OF  KING  PHILIP'S  WAR 

BY 
RALPH  HENRY  BARBOUR 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

$fc  ftfcrtffte  press  Cambridge 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,  BY  THE  BOY   SCOUTS  OF  AMERICA 
COPYRIGHT,  1021,  BY  RALPH  HENRY  BARBOUR 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CONTENTS 

I.  THE  RED  OMEN 

II.  THE  MEETING  IN  THE  WOODS 

III.  DOWN  THE  WINDING  RIVER 

IV.  THE  SPOTTED  ARROW 

V.  DAVID  VISITS  THE  PRAYING  VILLAGE 
VI.  WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  POOL 
VII.  CAPTURED 

VIII.  METIPOM  QUESTIONS 
IX.  THE  VILLAGE  OF  THE  WACHOOSETTS 
X.  SEQUANAWAH  PLEDGES  FRIENDSHIP 
XL  THE  CAVE  IN  THE  FOREST 

XII.  DAVID  FACES  DEATH 

XIII.  A  FRIEND  IN  STRANGE  GUISE 

XIV.  EMISSARIES  FROM  KING  PHILIP 
XV.  THE  SACHEM  DECIDES 

XVI.  MONAPIKOT'S  MESSAGE 
XVII.  METIPOM  TAKES  THE  WAR-PATH 
XVIII.  IN  KING  PHILIP'S  POWER 
XIX.  THE  ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP 
XX.  DAVID  BEARS  A  MESSAGE 
XXI.  To  THE  RESCUE 
XXII.  THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  GARRISON 
XXIII.  STRAIGHT  ARROW  RETURNS 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

KING  PHILIP  Frontispiece 

IN  THAT  INSTANT  DAVID  KNEW,  AND  HIS  HEART 

LEAPED  INTO   HIS  THROAT  80 

THERE  WAS  A  SWIFT  whiz-zt  BESIDE  HIM  AND  AN 
ARROW  EMBEDDED  ITSELF  IN  A  SAPLING  224 

THEN  DAVID  WAS  HALF  PUSHING,  HALF  CARRY- 
ING MONAPIKOT  THROUGH  THE  DOORWAY  282 


METIPOM  S  HOSTAGE 

•  • 
• 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  RED  OMEN 

DAVID  LINDALL  stirred  uneasily  in  his  sleep, 
sighed,  muttered,  and  presently  became 
partly  awake.  Thereupon  he  was  conscious 
that  all  was  not  as  it  had  been  when  slumber 
had  overtaken  him,  for,  beyond  his  closed 
lids,  the  attic,  which  should  have  been  as 
dark  at  this  hour  as  the  inside  of  any  pocket, 
was  illuminated.  He  opened  his  eyes.  The 
rafters  a  few  feet  above  his  head  were  visible 
in  a  strange  radiance.  He  raised  himself  on 
an  elbow,  blinking  and  curious.  The  light 
did  not  come  from  the  room  below,  nor  was 
it  the  yellow  glow  of  a  pine-knot.  No  sound 
came  to  him  save  the  loud  breathing  of  his 
father  and  Obid,  the  servant,  the  former  near 
at  hand,  the  latter  at  the  other  end  of  the 
attic :  no  sound,  that  is,  save  the  soft  sighing 
of  the  night  breeze  in  the  pines  and  hemlocks 
at  the  eastern  edge  of  the  clearing.  That  was 


2  METIPOM' S  HOSTAGE 

ever-present  and  so  accustomed  that  David 
had  to  listen  hard  to  hear  it.  But  this  strange 
red  glow  was  new  and  disturbing,  and  now, 
wide  awake,  the  boy  sought  the  explanation 
of  it  and  found  it  once  his  gaze  had  moved 
to  the  north  window. 

Above  the  tops  of  the  distant  trees  beyond 
the  plantation,  the  sky  was  like  the  mouth 
of  a  furnace,  and  against  the  unearthly  glow 
the  topmost  branches  of  the  taller  trees 
stood  sharply,  like  forms  cut  from  black  pa- 
per. 

"Father!"  called  the  boy. 
Nathan  Lindall  was  awake  on  the  instant. 
"You  called,  David?  "  he  asked. 
"  Yes,  father.  The  forest  is  afire !  " 
"  Nay,    'tis    not    the    forest,"    answered 
Nathan  Lindall  when  he  had  looked  from 
the  window.   "  The  woods  are  too  damp  at 
this  season,  and  I  have  never  heard  of  the 
Indians  firing  them  save  in  the  fall.    JTis 
some  one's  house,  lad,  and  I  fear  —  "   He 
did  not  finish,  but  turned  instead  to  Obid 
Dawkin  who  had  joined  them.   "  What  say 
you,  Obid?  "  he  questioned. 

"  I  say  as  you,  master,"  replied  Obid  in 
his  thin,  rusty  voice.  "  And  'tis  the  work  of 
the  heathens,  I  doubt  not.  But  whose  house 


THE  RED  OMEN  3 

it  may  be  I  do  not  know,  for  it  seems  too 
much  east  to  be  any  in  Sudbury,  and  —  " 

"  And  how  far,  think  you  ?  " 

"  Maybe  four  miles,  sir,  or  maybe  but  two. 
'Tis  hard  to  say." 

"  Three,  then,  Obid :  and  that  brings  us 
to  Master  William  Vernham's,  for  none 
other  lies  in  that  direction  and  so  near. 
Whether  it  be  set  afire  by  the  Indians  we 
shall  know  in  time.  But  don  your  clothing, 
for  there  may  be  work  for  us,  although  I 
misdoubt  that  we  arrive  in  time." 

"  And  may  I  go  with  you,  father  ?  "  asked 
David  eagerly. 

"Nay,  lad,  for  we  must  travel  fast  and 
'twill  be  hard  going.  Do  you  bolt  well  the 
door  when  we  are  gone  and  then  go  back  to 
bed.  'Tis  nigh  on  three  already  and  'twill 
soon  be  dawn.  Art  ready,  Obid?  " 

"  Nay,  for  Sathan  has  hidden  my  breeches, 
Master  Lindall,"  grumbled  the  man,  "  and 
without  breeches  I  will  not  venture  forth." 

"  Do  you  find  them  quickly  or  a  clout  upon 
your  thick  skull  may  aid  you,"  responded 
Nathan  Lindall  grimly. 

"  I  have  them,  master,"  piped  Obid  hur- 
riedly. 

"  Look,  sir,  the  fire  is  dying  out,"  said 


4  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

David.  "  The  sky  is  far  less  red,  I  think." 

"  Maybe  'tis  but  a  wild-goose  chase  we  go 
on,"  replied  his  father,  "  and  yet  'tis  best 
to  go.  David,  do  you  slip  down  and  set  out 
the  muskets  and  see  that  there  be  ammuni- 
tion to  hand.  Doubtless  in  time  this  jabber- 
ing knave  will  be  clothed." 

"  I  be  ready  now,  master !  And  as  for  jab- 
bering —  " 

"  Cease,  cease,  and  get  you  down !  " 
A  minute  or  two  later  David  watched 
their  forms  melt  into  the  darkness  beyond 
the  barn.  Then,  closing  the  door,  he  shot 
home  the  heavy  iron  bolt  and  dropped  the 
stout  oak  bar  as  well.  In  the  wide  chimney- 
place  a  few  live  embers  glowed  amidst  the 
gray  ashes  and  he  coaxed  them  to  life  with 
the  bellows  and  dropped  splinters  of  resinous 
pine  upon  them  until  a  cheery  fire  was  crack- 
ling there.  Then,  rubbing  out  the  lighted 
knot  against  the  stones  of  the  hearth,  he  drew 
a  bench  to  the  blaze  and  warmed  himself, 
for  the  night,  although  May  was  a  week  old, 
was  chill. 

The  room,  which  took  up  the  whole  lower 
floor  of  the  house,  was  nearly  square,  per- 
haps six  paces  one  way  by  seven  the  other. 
The  ceiling  was  low,  so  low  that  Nathan 


THE  RED  OMEN  5 

Lindall's  head  but  scantily  escaped  the 
rough-hewn  beams.  The  furnishings  would 
to-day  be  rude  and  scanty,  but  in  the  year 
1675  they  were  considered  proper  and  suffi- 
cient. In  fact  Nathan  Lindall's  dwelling  was 
rather  better  furnished  than  most  of  its  kind. 
The  table  and  the  two  benches  flanking  it 
had  been  fashioned  in  Boston  by  the  best 
cabinet-maker  in  the  Colony.  The  four 
chairs  were  comfortable  and  sightly,  the 
chest  of  drawers  was  finely  carved  and  had 
come  over  from  England,  and  the  few  arti- 
cles that  were  of  home  manufacture  were 
well  and  strongly  made.  Six  windows, 
guarded  by  heavy  shutters,  gave  light  to  the 
room,  and  one  end  was  almost  entirely  taken 
up  by  the  wide  chimney-place.  At  the  other 
end  3.  steep  flight  of  steps  led  to  the  room 
above,  no  more  than  an  attic  under  the  high 
sloping  roof. 

David  had  lived  in  the  house  seven  years, 
and  he  was  now  sixteen,  a  tall,  well-made 
boy  with  pleasing  countenance  and  ways 
which,  for  having  dwelt  so  long  on  the  edge 
of  the  wilderness,  were  older  than  his  age 
warranted.  His  father  had  taken  up  his  grant 
of  one  hundred  acres  in  1668,  removing  from 
the  Plymouth  Colony  after  the  death  of  his 


wife.  David's  recollection  of  his  mother  was 
undimmed  in  spite  of  the  more  than  eight 
years  that  had  passed,  but,  as  he  had  been 
but  a  small  lad  at  the  time  of  her  death,  his 
memory  of  her,  unlike  his  father's,  held  little 
pain.  The  grant,  part  woodland  and  part 
meadow,  lay  sixteen  miles  from  Boston  and 
north  of  Natick.  It  was  a  pleasant  tract,  with 
much  fine  timber  and  a  stream  which,  rising 
in  a  spring-fed  pond  not  far  from  the  house, 
meandered  southward  and  ultimately  entered 
the  Charles  River.  The  river  lay  a  long  mile 
to  the  east  and  was  the  highway  on  which 
they  traveled,  whether  to  Boston  or  Dedham. 

Nathan  Lindall  had  brought  some  forty 
acres  of  his  land  under  cultivation,  and  for 
the  wheat,  corn,  and  potatoes  that  he  raised 
found  a  ready  market  in  Boston. 

The  household  consisted  of  Nathan  Lin- 
dall, David,  and  Obid  Dawkin.  Obid  had 
come  to  the  Colony  many  years  before  as  a 
"  bond  servant,"  had  served  his  term  and 
then  hired  to  Master  Lindall.  In  England  he 
had  been  a  school-teacher,  although  of  small 
attainments,  and  now  to  his  duties  of  helping 
till  and  sow  and  harvest  was  added  that  of 
instructing  David.  Considering  the  lack  of 
books,  he  had  done  none  so  badly,  and  David 


THE  RED  OMEN  7 

possessed  more  of  an  education  than  was 
common  in  those  days  for  a  boy  of  his  posi- 
tion. It  may  be  said  of  Obid  that  he  was  a 
better  farmer  than  teacher  and  a  better  cook 
than  either ! 

It  was  a  lonely  life  that  David  led,  al- 
though he  was  never  lonesome.  There  was 
work  and  study  always,  and  play  at  times. 
His  play  was  hunting  and  fishing  and  fash- 
ioning things  with  the  few  rude  tools  at  hand. 
Of  hunting  there  was  plenty,  for  at  that  time 
and  for  many  years  later  eastern  Massachu- 
setts abounded  in  animals  and  birds  valuable 
for  food  as  well  as  many  others  sought  for 
pelt  or  plumage.  Red  deer  were  plentiful, 
and  beyond  the  Sudbury  Marshes  only  the 
winter  before  some  of  the  Natick  Indians 
had  slain  a  moose  of  gigantic  size.  Wolves 
caused  much  trouble  to  those  who  kept  cattle 
or  sheep,  and  in  Dedham  a  bounty  of  ten 
shillings  had  lately  been  offered  for  such  as 
were  killed  within  the  town.  Foxes,  both  red 
and  gray,  raccoons,  porcupines,  woodchucks, 
and  rabbits  were  numerous,  while  the  ponds 
and  streams  supplied  beavers,  muskrats,  and 
otters.  Bears  there  were,  as  well,  and  some- 
times panthers ;  and  many  lynxes  and  mar- 
tens. Turkeys,  grouse,  and  pigeons  were 


8  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

common,  the  latter  flying  in  flocks  of  many 
hundreds.  Geese,  swans,  ducks,  and  cranes 
and  many  smaller  birds  frequented  streams 
and  marshes,  and  there  were  trout  in  the 
brooks  and  bass,  pickerel,  and  perch  in  the 
ponds.  At  certain  seasons  the  alewives  as- 
cended the  streams  in  thousands  and  were 
literally  scooped  from  the  water  to  be  used 
as  fertilizer. 

There  was,  therefore,  no  dearth  of  flesh  for 
food  nor  skins  for  clothing  so  long  as  one 
could  shoot  a  gun,  set  a  trap,  or  drop  a  hook. 
Of  traps  David  had  many,  and  the  south  end 
of  the  house  was  never  without  several  skins 
in  process  of  curing.  Larger  game  had  fallen 
to  his  prowess,  for  he  had  twice  shot  a  bear 
and  once  a  panther:  the  skins  of  these  lay 
on  the  floor  in  evidence.  He  was  a  good  shot, 
but  there  was  scant  virtue  in  that  at  a  time 
when  the  use  of  the  musket,  both  for  hunting 
and  for  defense  against  the  Indians,  was  uni- 
versal amongst  the  settlers.  Rather,  he 
prided  himself  on  his  skill  in  the  making  of 
traps  and  snowshoes  and  such  things  as  were 
needed  about  the  house.  He  had  clever  hands 
for  such  work.  He  could  draw,  too,  not  very 
skillfully,  but  so  well  that  Obid  could  dis- 
tinguish at  the  first  glance  which  was  the  pig 


THE  RED  OMEN  9 

and  which  the  ox!  And  at  such  times  his 
teacher  would  grumblingly  regret  that  his 
talent  did  not  run  more  to  the  art  of  writing. 
But,  since  Obid's  own  signature  looked  more 
like  a  rat's  nest  than  an  autograph,  the  com- 
plaint came  none  too  well. 

Sitting  before  the  fire  to-night,  David  fol- 
lowed in  thought  the  journey  of  his  father 
and  Obid  and  wished  himself  with  them. 
Nathan  Lindall  had  spoken  truly  when  he 
had  predicted  hard  going,  for  the  ice,  which 
still  lay  in  the  swamps  because  of  an  unsea- 
sonable spell  of  frost  the  week  gone,  was  too 
thin  to  bear  one  and  the  trail  to  Master 
Vernham's  must  keep  to  the  high  ground  and 
the  longer  distance.  The  three  miles,  David 
reflected,  would  become  four  ere  the  men 
reached  their  destination,  and  in  the  dark- 
ness the  ill-defined  trail  through  the  woods 
would  be  hard  to  follow.  It  was  far  easier 
to  sit  here  at  home,  toasting  his  knees,  but 
no  boy  of  sixteen  will  choose  ease  before  ad- 
venture, and  the  possibility  of  the  fire  having 
been  set  by  the  Indians  suggested  real  adven- 
ture. 

A  year  and  more  ago  such  a  possibility 
would  have  been  little  considered,  for  the 
tribes  had  been  long  at  peace  with  the  col- 


io  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

onists,  but  to-day  matters  were  changed.  It 
had  been  suspected  for  some  time  that  Pom- 
etacom,  or  King  Philip,  as  he  was  called, 
sachem  of  the  Wampanoags,  was  secretly  un- 
friendly toward  the  English.  Indeed,  nearly 
four  years  since  he  had  been  summoned  to 
Taunton  and  persuaded  to  sign  articles  of 
submission,  which  he  did  with  apparent  good 
grace,  but  with  secret  dissatisfaction.  Real 
uneasiness  on  the  part  of  the  English  was  not 
bred,  however,  until  the  year  before  our 
story.  Then  Sassamon,  a  Massachusett  In- 
dian who  had  become  a  convert  of  John 
Eliot's  at  the  village  of  Praying  Indians  at 
Natick,  brought  word  to  Plymouth  of  in- 
tended treachery  by  Philip.  Sassamon  had 
been  with  Philip  at  Mount  Hope  acting  as 
his  interpreter.  Philip  had  learned  of  Sassa- 
mon's  treachery  and  had  caused  his  death. 
Three  Indians  suspected  of  killing  Sassamon 
were  apprehended,  tried,  convicted,  and,  in 
June  of  the  following  year,  executed.  Of  the 
three  one  was  a  counselor  of  Philip's,  and 
the  latter,  although  avoiding  any  acts  of  hos- 
tility pending  the  court's  decision,  was  bit- 
terly resentful  and  began  to  prepare  for  war. 
During  the  winter  various  annoyances  had 
been  visited  upon  the  settlers  by  roaming 


THE    RED    OMEN  n 

Indians.  In  some  cases  the  savages  were 
known  to  be  Wampanoags ;  in  other  cases 
the  friendly  Indians  of  the  villages  and  settle- 
ments were  suspected,  perhaps  often  un- 
justly. Even  John  Eliot's  disciples  at  Natick 
did  not  escape  suspicion.  Rumors  of  threat- 
ening signs  were  everywhere  heard.  Exag- 
gerated stories  of  Indian  depredations  trav- 
eled about  the  sparsely  settled  districts. 
From  the  south  came  the  tale  of  disaffection 
amongst  the  Narragansetts,  and  from  the 
north  like  rumors  regarding  the  Abenakis. 
There  was  a  feeling  of  alarm  everywhere 
amongst  the  English,  and  even  in  Boston 
there  were  timorous  souls  who  feared  an  at- 
tack on  that  town.  As  yet,  however,  nothing 
untoward  had  occurred  in  the  Massachusetts- 
Bay  Colony,  and  the  only  Indians  that  Da- 
vid knew  were  harmless  and  frequently 
rather  sorry-looking  specimens  who  led  a 
precarious  existence  by  trading  furs  with  the 
English  or  who  dwelt  in  the  village  at  Natick. 
Most  of  them  were  Nipmucks,  although  other 
neighboring  tribes  were  represented  as  well. 
Save  that  they  not  infrequently  stole  from 
his  traps  —  sometimes  taking  trap  as  well  as 
catch  —  David  knew  nothing  to  the  discredit 
of  the  Indians.  Often  they  came  to  the  house, 


12  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

more  often  he  ran  across  them  on  the  river 
or  in  the  forest.  Always  they  were  friendly. 
One  or  two  he  counted  as  friends ;  Monapi- 
kot,  a  Pegan  youth  of  near  his  own  age  who 
dwelt  at  Natick,  and  Mattatanopet,  or  Joe 
Tanopet  as  he  was  known,  who  came  and 
went  as  it  pleased  him,  bartering  skins  for 
food  and  tobacco,  and  who  claimed  to  be  the 
son  of  a  Wamesit  chief;  a  claim  very  gen- 
erally discredited.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at,  therefore,  that  David  added  a  good  sea- 
soning of  salt  to  the  tales  of  Indian  unfriend- 
liness, nor  that  to-night  he  was  little  inclined 
to  lay  the  burning  of  William  Vernham's 
house  at  the  door  of  the  savages. 

And  yet,  since  where  there  is  much  smoke 
there  must  be  some  fire,  he  realized  that 
Obid's  surmise  might  hold  more  than  preju- 
dice. Obid  was  firmly  of  the  belief  that  the 
Indian  was  little  if  any  better  than  the  beast 
of  the  forest  and  had  no  sympathy  with  the 
Reverend  John  Eliot's  earnest  endeavors  to 
convert  them  to  Christianity,  arguing  that  an 
Indian  had  no  soul  and  that  none,  not  even 
John  Eliot,  could  save  what  didn't  exist! 
Nathan  Lindall  held  opposite  views  both  of 
the  Indian  and  of  John  Eliot's  efforts,  and 
many  a  long  and  warm  argument  took  place 


THE  RED  OMEN  13 

about  the  fire  of  a  winter  evening,  while  Da- 
vid, longing  to  champion  his  father's  conten- 
tions, maintained  the  silence  becoming  one  of 
his  years. 

The  fire  dwindled  and  David  presently  be- 
came aware  of  the  chill,  and,  yawning, 
climbed  the  stair  and  sought  his  bed  with 
many  shivers  at  the  touch  of  the  cold  cloth- 
ing. A  fox  barked  in  the  distance,  but  save 
for  that  all  was  silent.  Northward  the  red 
glow  had  faded  from  the  sky  and  the  blacker 
darkness  that  precedes  the  first  sign  of  dawn 
wrapped  the  world. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  MEETING  IN  THE  WOODS 

IT  was  broad  daylight  when  David  awoke, 
rudely  summoned  from  slumber  by  the  loud 
tattoo  on  the  door  below.  He  tumbled  sleep- 
ily down  the  stair  and  admitted  his  father 
and  Obid,  their  boots  wet  with  the  dew  that 
hung  sparkling  in  the  pale  sunlight  from 
every  spray  of  sedge  and  blade  of  grass. 
While  Obid,  setting  aside  his  musket,  began 
the  preparation  of  breakfast,  David  ques- 
tioned his  father. 

"  By  God's  favor  'twas  not  the  house,  Da- 
vid, but  the  barn  and  a  goodly  store  of  hay 
that  was  burned.  Fortunately  these  were 
far  enough  away  so  that  the  flames  but 
scorched  the  house.  Master  Vernham  and 
the  servants  drew  water  from  the  well  and 
so  kept  the  roof  wet.  The  worst  of  it  was 
over  ere  we  arrived.  Some  folks  from  the  set- 
tlement at  Sudbury  came  also:  John  Long- 
staff  and  a  Master  Warren,  of  Salem,  who  is 
on  a  visit  there,  and  two  Indians." 

"  How  did  the  fire  catch,  sir?  "  asked  Da- 
vid. 


THE   MEETING  IN  THE  WOODS     15 

"  'Twas  set,"  replied  Nathan  Lindall 
grimly.  "  Indians  were  seen  skulking  about 
the  woods  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  'tis 
thought  they  were  some  that  have  set  up  their 
wigwams  above  the  Beaver  Pond  since 
autumn." 

"But  why,  sir?" 

"  I  know  not,  save  that  Master  Vernham 
tells  me  that  of  late  they  have  shown  much 
insolence  and  have  frequently  come  to  his 
house  begging  for  food  and  cloth.  At  first  he 
gave,  but  soon  their  importunity  wearied 
him  and  he  refused.  They  are,  he  says,  a 
povern  and  worthless  lot;  renegade  Mohe- 
gans  he  thinks.  But  dress  yourself,  lad,  and 
be  about  your  duties." 

Shortly  after  the  midday  meal,  Nathan 
Lindall  and  Obid  again  set  forth,  this  time 
taking  the  Sudbury  path,  and  David,  left  to 
his  own  devices,  finished  the  ploughing  of  the 
south  field  which  was  later  to  be  sown  to 
corn,  and  then,  unyoking  the  oxen  and  re- 
turning them  to  the  barn,  he  took  his  gun 
and  made  his  way  along  the  little  brook 
toward  the  swamp  woods.  The  afternoon, 
half  gone,  was  warm  and  still,  and  a  bluish 
haze  lay  over  the  distant  hills  to  the  south- 
east. A  rabbit  sprang  up  from  almost  be- 


1 6  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

neath  his  feet  as  he  entered  the  white  birch 
and  alder  thicket,  but  he  forbore  to  shoot, 
since  its  flesh  was  not  esteemed  as  food  and 
the  pelt  was  too  soft  for  use  at  that  season 
of  the  year.  For  that  matter,  there  was  little 
game  worth  the  taking  in  May,  and  David 
had  brought  his  gun  with  him  more  from 
force  of  habit  than  aught  else.  It  was  enough 
to  be  abroad  on  such  a  day,  for  the  spring 
was  waking  the  world  and  it  seemed  that  he 
could  almost  see  the  tender  young  leaves  of 
the  white  birches  unfold.  Birds  chattered 
and  sang  as  he  skirted  the  marsh  and  ap- 
proached the  deeper  forest  beyond.  A  chest- 
nut stump  had  been  clawed  but  recently  by 
a  bear  in  search  of  the  fat  white  worms  that 
dwelt  in  the  decaying  wood,  and  David 
found  the  prints  of  the  beast's  paws  and  fol- 
lowed them  until  they  became  lost  in  the 
swamp.  Turning  back,  his  ears  detected  the 
rustling  of  feet  on  the  dead  leaves  a  few  rods 
distant,  and  he  paused  and  peered  through 
the  greening  forest.  After  a  moment  an  In- 
dian came  into  view,  a  rather  thick-set, 
middle-aged  savage  with  a  round  counte- 
nance. He  wore  the  English  clothes  save 
that  his  feet  were  fitted  to  moccasins  instead 
of  shoes  and  had  no  doublet  above  a  frayed 


THE   MEETING  IN  THE  WOODS     17 

and  stained  waistcoat  that  had  once  been 
bright  green.  Nor  did  he  wear  any  hat,  but, 
instead,  three  blue  feathers  woven  into  his 
hair.  He  carried  a  bow  and  arrows  and  a 
hunting-knife  hung  at  his  girdle.  A  string 
of  wampum  encircled  his  neck.  That  he  had 
seen  David  as  soon  as  David  had  seen  him 
was  evident,  for  his  hand  was  already  raised 
in  greeting. 

"  Tis  you,  Tanopet,"  called  David.  "  For 
the  moment  I  took  you  for  the  bear  that  has 
been  dining  at  yonder  stump." 

"  Aye,"  grunted  the  Indian,  approaching. 
"  Greeting,  brother.  Where  see  bear?  " 

David  explained,  Joe  Tanopet  listening 
gravely  the  while.  Then,  "  No  good,"  he 
said.  "  No  catch  um  in  swamp.  What  shoot, 
David  ?  "  He  pointed  to  the  boy's  musket. 

"  Nothing,  Joe.  I  brought  gun  along  for 
friend  to  talk  to.  Where  you  been  so  long? 
You  haven't  been  here  since  winter." 

Tanopet's  gaze  wandered  and  he  waved  a 
hand  vaguely.  "  Me  go  my  people,"  he 
answered.  "  All  very  glad  see  me.  Make 
feast,  make  dance,  make  good  time." 

"  Is  your  father  Big  Chief  still  living, 
Joe?"  ' 

"  Aye,  but  um  very  old.    Soon  um  die. 


1 8  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

Then  Joe  be  chief.    How  your  father,  Da- 
vid? " 

"  Well,  I  thank  you;  and  so  is  Obid." 

Joe  Tanopet  scowled  and  spat. 

"  Um  little  man  talk  foolish,  no  good. 
You  see  fire  last  night? >: 

"  Aye.  Father  and  Obid  Dawkin  went  to 
give  aid,  but  the  flames  were  out  when  they 
reached  Master  Vernham's.  They  say  that 
the  fire  was  set,  Joe." 

"  Aye." 

"  They  suspect  some  Indians  who  have 
been  living  near  the  Beaver  Pond,"  contin- 
ued David  questioningly. 

Joe  Tanopet  shook  his  head.  "  Not  Bea- 
ver Pond  people." 

"Who  then,  Joe?" 

"  Maybe  Manitou  make  fire,"  replied  the 
Indian  evasively. 

"  Man  or  two,  rather,"  laughed  David. 
"Anyhow,  father  and  Obid  have  gone  to 
Sudbury  where  they  are  to  confer  with 
others,  and  I  fear  it  may  go  hard  with  the 
Beaver  Pond  Indians.  How  do  you  know 
that  they  did  not  set  the  fire,  Joe?  " 

"  Me  know.  You  tell  father  me  say." 

"  Aye,  but  with  no  more  proof  than  that  I 
fear  'twill  make  little  difference,"  answered 


THE   MEETING  IN  THE  WOODS     19 

the  boy  dubiously.  "  Joe,  they  say  that  there 
are  many  strange  Indians  in  the  forest  this 
spring;  that  Mohegans  have  been  seen  as  far 
north  as  Meadfield.  Is  it  true?  " 

"  Me  no  see  um  Mohegans.  Me  see  um 
Wampanoags.  Me  see  um  Niantiks.  Much 
trouble  soon.  Maybe  when  leaves  on  trees." 

"Trouble?   You  mean  King  Philip?" 

"Aye.  Him  bite  um  nails  long  time.  Him 
want  um  fight.  Him  great  sachem.  Him  got 
many  friends.  Much  trouble  in  summer." 
Tanopet  gazed  past  David  as  though  seeing 
a  vision  in  the  shadowed  forest  beyond. 
"  Big  war  soon,  but  no  good.  English  win. 
Philip  listen  bad  counsel.  Um  squaw  Woo- 
tonekanuske  tell  um  fight.  Um  Peebe  tell 
um  fight.  All  um  powwows  tell  um  make 
war.  Tell  um  drive  English  into  sea,  no 
come  back  here.  All  um  lands  belong  Indi- 
ans once  more.  Philip  um  think  so  too.  No 
good.  Wampanoags  big  fools.  Me  know." 

"  I  hope  you  are  mistaken,  Joe,  for  such  a 
war  would  be  very  foolish  and  very  wrong. 
That  Philip  has  cause  for  complaint  against 
the  Plymouth  Colony  I  do  not  doubt,  but  it 
is  true,  too,  my  father  says,  that  he  has  failed 
to  abide  by  the  promises  he  made.  As  for 
driving  the  English  out  of  the  country,  that 


20  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

is  indeed  an  idle  dream,  for  now  that  the 
Colonies  are  leagued  together  their  strength 
of  arms  is  too  great.  Not  all  the  Indian  Na- 
tions combined  could  bring  that  about. 
Philip  should  take  warning  of  what  happened 
to  the  Pequots  forty  years  ago." 

"  Um  big  war,"  grunted  Tanopet.  "  Many 
Indians  die.  Joe  um  little  boy,  but  um  see. 
Indians  um  fight  arrow  and  spear,  but  now 
um  fight  guns.  English  much  kind  to  Indian. 
Um  sell  um  gun,  um  sell  um  bullet,  um  sell 
um  powder."  Tanopet's  wrinkled  face  was 
slyly  ironical.  "  Philip  got  plenty  guns, 
plenty  bullet." 

"  But  how  can  that  be,  Joe  ?  'Tis  but  four 
years  gone  that  his  guns  were  taken  from 
him." 

"  Um  catch  more  maybe.  Maybe  um  not 
give  up  all  guns.  Good-bye." 

Tanopet  made  a  sign  of  farewell,  turned 
and  strode  lightly  away  into  the  darkening 
forest,  and  David,  his  gun  across  his  shoul- 
der, sought  his  home,  his  thoughts  busy  with 
what  the  Indian  had  said.  Joe  Tanopet  was 
held  trustworthy  by  the  colonists  there- 
abouts, and,  since  he  was  forever  on  the 
move  and  having  discourse  with  Indians  of 
many  tribes,  it  might  well  be  that  his  words 


THE  MEETING  IN  THE  WOODS    21 

were  worthy  of  consideration.  For  the  first 
time  David  found  reason  to  fear  that  the  dis- 
mal prophecies  of  Obid  Dawkin  might  come 
true.  He  determined  to  tell  his  father  of  Tan- 
opet's  talk  when  he  returned. 

But  when  David  reached  the  house,  he 
found  only  Obid  there,  preparing  supper. 

"  Master  Lindall  will  not  be  back  until  the 
morrow,"  explained  Obid.  "  He  and  Master 
Vernham  have  gone  to  Boston  with  four  In- 
dians that  we  made  prisoners  of,  and  who,  I 
pray,  will  be  hung  to  the  gallows-tree." 

"  Prisoners !  "  exclaimed  David.  "  Mean 
you  that  there  has  been  fighting,  then  ?  " 

"  Fighting  ?  Nay,  the  infidels  had  no 
stomach  for  fighting.  They  surrendered 
themselves  readily  enough,  I  promise,  when 
they  saw  in  what  force  we  had  come.  But 
some  had  already  gone  away,  doubtless  hav- 
ing warning  of  our  intention,  and  only  a 
handful  were  there  when  we  reached  their 
village.  Squaws  and  children  mostly,  they 
were,  and  there  was  great  howling  and  dis- 
may when  we  burned  the  wigwams." 

"  But  is  it  known,  Obid,  that  it  was  indeed 
they  who  did  the  mischief  to  Master  Vern- 
ham's  place?  " 

"  Well  enough,  Master  David.  They  made 


22  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

denial,  but  so  they  would  in  any  case,  and 
always  do.  One  brave  who  appeared  to  be 
their  leader  —  his  name  is  Noosawah,  an  I 
have  it  right  —  told  a  wild  tale  of  strange 
Indians  from  the  north  and  how  they  had 
been  seen  near  the  High  Hill  two  days  since, 
and  proclaimed  his  innocence  most  loudly." 

"  And  might  he  not  have  been  telling  the 
truth?  " 

"Tis  thought  not,  Master  David.  At 
least,  it  was  deemed  best  to  disperse  them, 
for  they  were  but  a  Gypsy-sort  and  would  not 
say  plainly  from  whence  they  came." 

"  It  sounds  not  just,"  protested  David. 
"  Indeed,  Obid,  'tis  such  acts  that  put  us 
English  in  the  wrong  and  give  grounds  for 
complaint  to  the  savages.  And  now,  when, 
by  all  accounts,  there  is  ill-feeling  enough,  I 
say  that  it  was  badly  done." 

Obid  snorted  indignantly.  "  Would  you 
put  your  judgment  against  that  of  your 
father  and  Master  Vernham  and  such  men 
of  wisdom  as  John  Grafton,  of  Sudbury,  and 
Richard  Wight,  Master  David?  " 

;<  I  know  not,"  answered  David  troubledly. 
"  And  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  a  gentler  pol- 
icy were  better.  It  may  be  that  we  shall 
need  all  the  friends  we  can  secure  before 
many  months,  Obid." 


THE   MEETING  IN  THE  WOODS    23 

"  Aye,  but  trustworthy  friends,  not  these 
Sons  of  Sathan  who  offer  peace  with  one 
hand  and  hide  a  knife  in  t'other !  An  I  were 
this  Governor  Leverett  I  would  not  wait,  I 
promise  you,  for  the  savages  to  strike  the 
first  blow,  but  would  fall  upon  them  with  all 
the  strength  of  the  united  Colonies  and  drive 
the  ungodly  creatures  from  the  face  of  the 
earth." 

"  Then  it  pleases  me  well  that  you  are  not 
he,"  laughed  David  as  he  sat  himself  to  the 
table.  "  But  tell  me,  Obid,  what  of  the  In- 
dians that  father  and  Master  Vernham  are 
taking  to  Boston?  Surely  they  will  not  exe- 
cute them  on  such  poor  evidence !  " 

"  Nay,"  grumbled  Obid,  "  they  will  doubt- 
less be  sold  into  the  West  Indies." 

"  Sold  as  slaves  ?  A  hard  sentence,  me- 
thinks.  And  the  women  and  children,  what 
of  them?  You  say  the  village  was  burned?  " 

"  Aye,  to  the  ground ;  and  a  seemly  work, 
too.  The  squaws  and  the  children  and  a  few 
young  men  made  off  as  fast  as  they  might. 
I  doubt  they  will  be  seen  hereabouts  again," 
he  concluded  grimly.  "  For  my  part,  I  hold 
that  Master  Lindall  and  the  rest  were  far  too 
lenient,  since  they  took  but  four  prisoners, 
they  being  the  older  men,  and  let  all  others 


24  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

go  free.  I  thought  to  see  Master  Vernham 
use  better  wisdom,  but  'tis  well  known  that 
he  has  much  respect  for  Preacher  Eliot,  and 
doubtless  hearkened  to  his  intercessions.  If 
this  Eliot  chooses  to  waste  his  time  teaching 
the  gospel  to  the  savages,  'tis  his  own  affair, 
perchance,  but  'twould  be  well  for  him  to  re- 
frain from  interfering  with  affairs  outside  his 
villages.  Mark  my  words,  Master  David:  if 
trouble  comes  with  Philip's  Indians  these 
wastrel  hypocrites  of  Eliot's  will  be  murder- 
ing us  in  our  beds  so  soon  as  they  get  the 
word." 

"  That  I  do  not  believe,"  answered  David 
stoutly. 

"  An  your  scalp  dangles  some  day  from 
the  belt  of  one  of  these  same  Praying  In- 
dians you  will  believe,"  replied  Obid  dryly. 

Nathan  Lindall  returned  in  the  afternoon 
from  Boston  and  heard  David's  account  of 
his  talk  with  Joe  Tanopet  in  silence.  Nathan 
Lindall  was  a  large  man,  well  over  six  feet 
in  height  and  broad  of  shoulder,  and  David 
promised  to  equal  him  for  size  ere  he  stopped 
his  growth.  A  quiet  man  he  was,  with  calm 
brown  eyes  deeply  set  and  a  grave  counte- 
nance, who  could  be  stern  when  occasion 
warranted,  but  who  was  at  heart,  as  David 


THE  MEETING  IN  THE  WOODS    25 

well  knew,  kind  and  even  tender.  He  wore 
his  hair  shorter  than  was  then  the  prevailing 
fashion,  and  his  beard  longer.  His  father,  for 
whom  David  was  named,  had  come  to  the 
Plymouth  Colony  from  Lincolnshire,  Eng- 
land, in  1625,  by  profession  a  ship's-carpen- 
ter,  and  had  married  a  woman  of  well-to-do 
family  in  the  Colony,  thereafter  setting  up  in 
business  there.  Both  he  and  his  wife  were  now 
dead,  and  of  their  children,  a  son  and  daugh- 
ter, only  David's  father  remained.  The 
daughter  had  married  William  Elkins,  of 
Boston,  and  there  had  been  one  child,  Raph, 
who  still  lived  with  his  father  near  the 
King's  Head  Tavern.  When  David  had 
ended  his  recital,  his  father  shook  his  head 
as  one  in  doubt. 

"You  did  well  to  tell  me,  David,"  he 
said.  "  It  may  be  that  Tanopet  speaks  the 
truth  and  that  we  are  indeed  destined  to  suf- 
fer strife  with  the  Indians,  though  I  pray  not. 
In  Boston  I  heard  much  talk  of  it,  and  there 
are  many  there  who  fear  for  their  safety.  I 
would  that  I  had  myself  spoken  with  Tano- 
pet. Whither  did  he  go?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  father.  Should  I  meet 
him  again  I  will  bid  him  see  you." 

"  Do  so,  for  I  doubt  not  he  could  tell  much 


26  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

were  he  minded  to,  and  whether  Philip  means 
well  or  ill  we  shall  be  the  better  for  knowing. 
So  certain  are  some  of  the  settlers  to  the 
south  that  war  is  brewing,  according  to  your 
Uncle  William  —  with  whom  I  spent  the 
night  in  Boston  —  that  they  even  hesitate  to 
plant  their  fields  this  spring.  Much  foolish 
and  ungodly  talk  there  is  of  strange  portents, 
too,  with  which  I  have  no  patience.  Well,  we 
shall  see  what  we  shall  see,  my  son,  and 
meanwhile  there  is  work  to  be  done.  Did  you 
finish  the  south  field?  " 

*  Yes,  father.  The  soil  is  yet  too  wet  for 
good  ploughing  save  on  the  higher  places. 
What  of  the  Indians  you  took  to  Boston,  sir? 
Obid  prays  that  they  be  hung,  but  I  do  not, 
since  it  seems  to  me  that  none  has  proven 
their  guilt." 

"They  will  be  justly  tried,  David.  If 
deemed  guilty  they  will  doubtless  be  sold  for 
slaves.  A  harsher  punishment  would  be  fit- 
ter, I  think,  for  this  is  no  time  to  quibble. 
Stern  measures  alone  have  weight  with  the 
Indians,  so  long  as  Justice  dictates  them. 
Now  be  off  to  your  duties  ere  it  be  too  dark." 


CHAPTER  III 
DOWN  THE  WINDING  RIVER 

A  FORTNIGHT  later  David  set  out  early  one 
morning  for  Boston  to  make  purchases. 
Warm  and  dry  weather  had  made  fit  the  soil 
for  ploughing  and  tilling,  and  Nathan  Lin- 
dall  and  Obid  were  up  to  their  necks  in  work, 
and  of  the  household  David  could  best  be 
spared.  He  was  to  lodge  overnight  with  his 
Uncle  William  Elkins  and  return  on  the  mor- 
row. The  sun  was  just  showing  above  the 
trees  to  the  eastward  when  he  left  the  house 
and  made  his  way  along  the  path  that  led  to 
the  river.  He  wore  his  best  doublet,  as  was 
befitting  the  occasion,  but  for  the  rest  had 
clothed  himself  for  the  journey  rather  than 
for  the  visit  in  the  town.  His  musket  lay  in 
the  hollow  of  his  arm  and  a  leather  bag 
slung  about  his  shoulder  held  both  ammuni- 
tion and  food. 

His  spirits  were  high  as  he  left  the  clearing 
behind  and  entered  the  winding  path  through 
the  forest  of  pines  and  hemlocks,  maples  and 
beeches.  The  sunlight  filtered  through  the 
upper  branches  and  laid  a  pattern  of  pale 


28  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

gold  on  the  needle-carpeted  ground.  Birds 
sang  about  him,  and  presently  a  covey  of 
partridges  whirred  into  air  beyond  a  beech 
thicket.  It  was  good  to  be  alive  on  such  a 
morning,  and  better  still  to  be  adventuring, 
and  David's  heart  sang  as  he  strode  blithely 
along.  The  voyage  down  the  river  would  be 
pleasant,  the  town  held  much  to  excite  in- 
terest, and  the  visit  to  his  uncle  and  cousin 
would  be  delightful.  He  only  wished  that  his 
stay  in  the  town  was  to  be  longer,  for  he  and 
Raph,  who  was  two  years  his  elder,  were  firm 
friends,  and  the  infrequent  occasions  spent 
with  his  cousin  were  always  the  most  enjoy- 
able of  his  life.  This  morning  he  refused  to 
think  of  the  trip  back  when,  with  a  laden 
canoe,  he  would  have  to  toil  hard  against  the 
current.  The  immediate  future  was  enough. 
Midges  were  abroad  and  attacked  him  blood- 
thirstily,  but  he  plucked  a  hemlock  spray  and 
fought  them  off  until,  presently,  the  path 
ended  at  the  bank  of  the  river,  here  narrow 
and  swift  and  to-day  swollen  with  the  spring 
freshets.  Concealed  under  the  trees  near  by 
lay  a  bark  canoe  and  a  pair  of  paddles,  and 
David  soon  had  the  craft  afloat  and,  his  gun 
and  bag  at  his  feet,  was  guiding  it  down  the 
stream. 


DOWN    THE    WINDING    RIVER  29 

The  sun  was  well  up  by  the  time  he  had 
passed  the  first  turns  and  entered  the  lake 
above  Nonantum  which  was  well  over  a  half- 
mile  in  width,  although  it  seemed  less  be- 
cause of  a  large  island  that  lay  near  its  lower 
end.  There  were  several  deserted  wigwams 
built  of  poles  and  bark  on  the  shores  of  the 
island,  left  by  Indians  who  a  few  years  before 
had  dwelt  there  to  fish.  David  used  his  pad- 
dle now,  for  the  current  was  lost  when  the 
river  widened,  and,  keeping  close  to  the 
nearer  shore,  glided  from  sunlight  to  shadow, 
humming  a  tune  as  he  went.  Once  he  sur- 
prised a  young  deer  drinking  where  a  mea- 
dow stretched  down  to  the  river,  and  was 
within  a  few  rods  of  him  before  he  took 
alarm  and  went  bounding  into  a  coppice. 
Again  the  river  narrowed  and  he  laid  the 
paddle  over  the  side  as  a  rudder.  A  clear- 
ing running  well  back  from  the  stream 
showed  a  dwelling  of  logs,  and  a  yellow-and- 
white  dog  barked  at  him  from  beside  the 
doorway.  Then  the  tall  trees  closed  in  again 
and  the  swift  water  was  shadowed  and  looked 
black  beneath  the  banks. 

At  noon,  then  well  below  the  settlement 
at  Watertown,  David  turned  toward  the 
shore  and  ran  the  bow  of  the  canoe  up  on  a 


30  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

little  pebbly  beach  and  ate  the  provender  he 
had  brought.  It  was  but  bread  and  meat,  but 
hunger  was  an  excellent  sauce  for  it,  and  with 
draughts  of  water  scooped  from  the  river  in 
his  hand  it  was  soon  finished.  Then,  because 
there  was  no  haste  needed  and  because  the 
sunshine  was  warm  and  pleasant,  he  leaned 
back  and  dreamily  watched  the  white  clouds 
float  overhead,  borne  on  a  gentle  southwes- 
terly breeze.   Behind  him  the  narrow  beach 
ended  at  a  bank  whereon  alders  and  willows 
and  low  trees  made  a  thin  hedge  that  partly 
screened  the  wide  expanse  of  fresh  green 
meadow  that  here  followed  the  river  for  more 
than  five  miles.  Through  it  meandered  little 
brooks  between  muddy  banks,  and  here  and 
there  a  rounded  island  of  clustered  oaks  or 
maples  stood  above  the  level  of  the  marsh. 
Swallows  darted  and  from  near  at  hand  a 
kingfisher  cried  harshly.   David's  dreaming 
was  presently  disturbed  by  the  faint  but  un- 
mistakable swish  of  paddles  and  he  raised 
his  head  just  as  a  canoe  rounded  a  turn 
downstream. 

The  craft  held  three  Indians,  of  whom  two, 
paddling  at  bow  and  stern,  were  naked  to  the 
waist  save  for  beads  and  amulets  worn  about 
the  neck.  The  one  who  sat  in  the  center  was 


DOWN    THE    WINDING    RIVER  31 

clothed  in  a  garb  that  combined  pictur- 
esquely the  Indian  and  the  English  fashions. 
Deerskin  trousers,  a  shirt  of  blue  cotton 
cloth,  and  a  soft  leather  jacket  made  his  at- 
tire. He  wore  no  ornaments,  nor  was  his 
bare  head  adorned  in  any  way.  A  musket  lay 
across  his  knees  and  a  long-stemmed  pipe  of 
red  clay  was  held  to  his  lips.  Before  him 
were  several  bundles.  At  sight  of  David  he 
raised  a  hand  and  then  spoke  to  his  com- 
panions, and  the  canoe  left  the  middle  of 
the  stream  and  floated  gently  up  to  the 
marge.  David  jumped  eagerly  from  his  own 
craft  and  made  toward  the  other. 

"Pikot!"  he  called  joyfully.  "  I  had  be- 
gun to  think  you  were  lost.  'Tis  moons  since 
I  saw  you  last." 

"  The  heart  sees  when  the  eyes  cannot," 
replied  the  Indian,  smiling,  as  he  leaped  to 
the  beach  and  shook  hands.  "  Often  I  have 
said, '  To-morrow  I  will  take  the  Long  Marsh 
trail  and  visit  my  brother  David  ' ;  but  there 
has  been  much  work  at  the  village  all  through 
the  winter,  and  the  to-morrows  I  sought  did 
not  come.  Where  do  you  go,  my  brother?  " 

"  To  Boston  to  buy  seeds  and  food  and 
many  things,  Straight  Arrow.  And  you  ?  " 

"  To  Natick  with  some  goods  for  Master 


32  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

Eliot  that  came  from  across  the  sea  by  ship. 
All  has  been  well  with  you,  David?  " 

"  Aye,  but  I  am  glad  indeed  that  the  win- 
ter is  over.  I  like  it  not.  They  say  that  in 
Virginia  the  winters  are  neither  so  long  nor 
so  severe,  and  I  sometimes  wish  that  we 
dwelt  there  instead." 

The  Indian  shook  his  head.  "  I  know 
not  of  Virginia,  but  I  know  that  my  people 
who  live  in  the  North  are  greater  and 
stronger  and  wiser  than  they  who  dwell  in 
the  South.  'Tis  the  cold  of  winter  that  makes 
strong  and  lean  bodies.  In  summer  we  lose 
our  strength  and  become  fat,  wherefore  God 
divides  the  seasons  wisely.  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you,  David.  Come  a  little  way 
along  the  shore  where  it  may  not  be  over- 
heard." 

David  followed,  viewing  admiringly  the 
straight,  slim  figure  of  his  friend.  Monapikot 
was  a  Pegan  Indian.  The  Pegans  were  one 
of  the  smaller  tribes  of  the  Abenakis  who 
lived  southward  in  the  region  of  Chaubuna- 
gunamog.  He  was  perhaps  three  years  Da- 
vid's senior  and  had  been  born  at  Natick  in 
the  village  of  the  Praying  Indians.  Although 
scarcely  more  than  a  lad  in  years,  he  was 
already  one  of  Master  Eliot's  most  trusted 


DOWN    THE    WINDING    RIVER  33 

disciples  and  had  recently  become  a  teacher. 
He  spoke  English  well  and  could  read  it 
fairly.  He  and  David  had  been  friends  ever 
since  shortly  after  the  latter 's  arrival  in  that 
vicinity,  at  which  time  David  had  been  a  boy 
of  nine  years  and  Pikot  twelve.  They  had 
hunted  together  and  lost  themselves  together 
in  the  Long  Marsh,  and  had  had  the  usual 
adventures  and  misadventures  falling  to  the 
lot  of  boys  whether  they  be  white  or  red.  For 
the  last  three  years,  though,  Pikot's  duties 
had  held  him  closer  to  the  village  and  their 
meetings  had  been  fewer.  The  Indian  was  a 
splendid-looking  youth,  tall  and  straight  — 
for  which  David  had  once  dubbed  him 
Straight  Arrow  —  with  hard,  lean  muscles 
and  a  gracefulness  that  was  like  the  swaying 
litheness  of  a  panther.  His  features  were  ex- 
ceptional for  one  of  a  tribe  not  usually  en- 
dowed with  good  looks,  for  his  forehead  was 
broad,  his  eyes  well  apart,  and  his  whole 
countenance  indicated  nobility.  His  gaze 
was  direct  and  candid,  and,  which  was  un- 
usual in  his  people,  his  mouth  curved 
slightly  upward  at  the  corners,  giving  him 
a  less  grave  expression  than  most  Indians 
showed.  Perhaps  David  had  taught  him  to 
laugh,  or,  at  least,  to  smile,  for  he  did  so  fre- 


34  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

quently.  Had  there  been  more  like  Monapi- 
kot  amongst  the  five-score  converts  that 
dwelt  in  Natick,  there  might  well  have  been 
a  more  universal  sympathy  toward  John 
Eliot's  efforts. 

"  When  we  were  little,"  began  Pikot  after 
they  had  placed  a  hundred  strides  between 
them  and  the  two  Indians  in  the  canoe,  "  you 
brought  me  safe  from  the  water  of  the  Great 
Pond  when  I  would  have  drowned,  albeit  you 
were  younger  and  smaller  than  I,  my 
brother." 

"  Yes,  'tis  true,  Pikot,  but  the  squirrel  is 
ever  more  clever  than  the  woodchuck.  Be- 
sides, then  the  woodchuck  snared  himself  in 
a  sunken  tree  root  and,  having  not  the  sense 
to  gnaw  himself  free,  must  needs  call  on  the 
squirrel  for  aid." 

Pikot  assented,  but  did  not  smile  at  the 
other's  nonsense.  Instead,  he  laid  one  slim 
bronze-red  hand  against  his  heart.  "  You 
saved  the  life  of  Monapikot  and  he  does  not 
forget.  Some  day  he  will  save  the  life  of 
David  just  so." 

"What?  Then  I  shall  keep  out  of  the 
water,  Straight  Arrow!  I  doubt  not  you 
would  bring  me  ashore  as  I  brought  you,  but 


DOWN    THE    WINDING    RIVER  35 

suppose  you  happened  not  to  be  by?  Nay, 
I'll  take  no  risks,  thank  you !  " 

"  I  know  not  in  what  way  you  will  be  in 
danger,"  answered  the  Pegan  gravely.  "  But 
thrice  I  have  dreamed  the  same  dream,  and 
in  the  dream  'tis  as  I  have  told." 

"  Methinks  your  dreams  smack  of  this 
witchcraft  of  which  we  hear  so  much  of  late," 
said  David  slyly,  "  and  belong  not  to  that 
religion  that  you  teach,  Pikot." 

"  Nay,  for  the  Bible  tells  much  of  dreams. 
Did  not  Joseph,  when  sold  by  his  wicked 
brothers  in  Egypt,  tell  truly  what  meant  the 
dreams  of  the  great  King?  My  people  in 
such  way  tell  their  dreams  to  the  powwows, 
and  the  powwows  explain  them.  It  may  be 
that  dreams  are  the  whisperings  of  the  Great 
Spirit.  But  listen,  my  brother,  to  a  matter 
that  is  of  greater  moment.  Fifteen  days  ago 
your  father  and  Master  Vernham  made  cap- 
tive three  Indians  and  took  them  to  Boston 
where  they  now  wait  judgment  of  the  court. 
One  is  named  Nausauwah,  a  young  brave 
who  is  a  son  of  Woosonametipom,  whose 
lands  are  westward  by  the  Lone  Hill." 

"  But  my  father  thinks  that  they  are  Mo- 
hegans,  Pikot." 

"  Nay,  they  are  Wachoosetts.  Nausauwah 


36  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

quarreled  with  Woosonametipom  and  came 
hither  in  the  fall  with  four  tens  of  his  people. 
He  is  a  lazy  man  and  thought  to  find  food 
amongst  the  English.  Now,  albeit  the  Sa- 
chem Woosonametipom  did  not  try  to  hinder 
Nausauwah  from  leaving  the  lodge  of  his 
people,  he  is  angry  at  what  he  has  heard  and 
says  that  he  will  come  with  all  his  warriors 
to  Boston  and  recover  his  son.  That  is  but 
boasting,  for  albeit  he  is  a  great  sachem  and 
has  many  warriors  under  him,  and  can  count 
on  the  Quaboags  to  aid  him,  mayhap,  he 
would  not  dare.  But  he  has  sworn  a  venge- 
ance against  these  who  have  taken  his  son, 
David,  and  I  fear  he  will  seek  to  harm  your 
father  and  Master  Vernham.  Do  not  ask  me 
where  I  have  learned  this,  but  give  warning 
to  your  father  and  be  ever  on  your  guard." 

"  Thank  you,  Straight  Arrow.  My  father 
and  Master  William  Vernham,  though,  had 
no  more  to  do  with  the  taking  of  this  Nausau- 
wah than  many  others.  It  but  so  happened 
that  they  were  chosen  to  convey  the  captives 
to  the  authorities  in  Boston.  What  means, 
think  you,  this  Metipom  will  seek  to  get 
vengeance  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  friendly  to  the  English,  my 
brother,  and  it  may  be  that  he  will  be  glad 


DOWN    THE    WINDING    RIVER  37 

o<f  this  reason  to  travel  swiftly  from  his 
mountain  home  and  make  pillage.  But  'tis 
more  likely  that  he  will  send  a  few  young 
men  eager  to  win  honor  by  returning  with 
English  scalps.  Go  not  abroad  alone,  David, 
and  see  that  the  house  be  well  secured  at 
nightfall.  The  Wachoosetts  are  forest  Indi- 
ans and  swift  and  sly,  and  I  fear  for  your 
safety.  It  would  be  well  to  travel  back  in 
company  with  another,  or  else  to  take  a  party 
of  Indians  with  you  and  see  that  they  are 
armed  with  guns.  Should  Woosonameti- 
pom's  braves  learn  of  your  journey,  I  fear 
they  would  make  the  most  of  it.  I  would 
I  could  stay  by  you,  but  I  must  go  on  my 
way  at  once." 

"  But  surely  they  would  not  dare  their 
deviltry  so  near  the  plantations !  " 

"  Who  knows  ?  "  Monapikot  lapsed  into 
the  Indian  tongue,  which  David  understood 
a  little  and  could  speak  haltingly  to  the  ex- 
tent of  being  understood.  "  The  fox  takes 
the  goose  where  he  finds  him." 

"  Then  I  will  be  no  goose,  Straight  Arrow, 
but  rather  the  dog  who  slays  the  fox," 
laughed  David. 

Pikot  smiled  faintly.  "  You  will  ever  be 
Noawama,  He  Who  Laughs,  my  brother. 


38  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

But  see  that  while  you  laugh  you  close  not 
your  eyes.  Now  I  must  go,  for  Master  Eliot 
awaits  what  I  bring." 

"  I  will  see  you  again  soon,  Pikot,  for  the 
fish  are  hungry  and  none  can  coax  them  to 
the  hook  as  you  can." 

"  And  none  eat  them  as  you  can ! " 
chuckled  Pikot.  "  Within  seven  sleeps  I  will 
visit  you  and  we  will  take  food  and  go  to 
the  Long  Pond.  Farewell,  my  brother." 

"  Farewell,  Pikot.  May  your  food  do  you 
much  good." 

Monapikot  stepped  into  his  canoe,  the  In- 
dians grunted  and  pushed  off,  and  David, 
waving,  watched  the  craft  out  of  sight.  Then 
he  launched  his  own  canoe  and  again  took  up 
his  journey.  Pikot's  warning  held  his 
thoughts,  although  it  did  not  seem  to  him 
that  this  Wachoosett  sagamore  would  dare 
dispatch  his  assassins  so  far  into  the  planta- 
tions. As  for  any  danger  on  the  river,  he 
smiled  at  that.  Already  the  village  of  New- 
towne,  a  good-sized  settlement  with  many 
proper  houses  and  a  mile-long  fenced  en- 
closure about  it,  was  in  sight  on  the  left  of 
the  river,  and  Boston  itself  was  but  a  good 
four  miles  distant.  But  David  told  himself 
that  Pikot's  fears  might  have  ground  and 


DOWN    THE    WINDING    RIVER  39 

that  for  a  while  at  least  it  would  be  best  to 
be  cautious.  As  soon  as  he  returned  home 
he  would  repeat  the  Indian's  warning.  He 
smiled  as  he  reflected  on  the  alarm  that  it 
would  bring  to  Obid  Dawkin. 

In  the  early  afternoon,  skirting  the  mud 
flats  and  oyster  banks  below  the  town,  he 
made  landing  at  Blackstone's  Point,  giving 
his  canoe  into  custody  of  an  Indian  who 
dwelt  in  a  hut  close  upon  the  water,  and 
made  his  way  up  the  hill,  there  being  nothing 
in  the  way  of  a  road  save  a  cart  track  that 
wound  deviously.  His  way  led  him  presently 
along  the  slope  of  Valley  Acre  and  thence 
into  Hanover  Street  above  where  stood  the 
house  that  had  been  the  home  of  Governor 
Endicott  before  his  death  ten  years  ago.  To 
David  the  sights  and  sounds  of  Boston  were 
engaging  indeed,  and  it  took  him  the  better 
part  of  an  hour  to  complete  his  journey  afoot. 
Many  windows  must  be  looked  into  that  he 
might  feast  his  eyes  on  the  goods  for  sale 
within,  and  the  signs  hanging  above  the  nar- 
row streets  were  a  never-failing  source  of  in- 
terest. Even  the  sober-visaged  citizens  held 
his  footsteps  while  he  amused  himself  in 
wondering  about  them.  There  were  strangers 
to  be  met  as  well,  and  these  could  be  easily 


40  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

distinguished,  not  only  by  their  dress,  but  by 
the  more  cheerful  countenances  that  they 
wore:  ship's  captains  and  rolling-gaited  sail- 
ors redolent  of  tar  and,  he  feared,  rum  as 
well;  Negroes  and  an  occasional  Indian; 
dark  men  who  wore  gold  rings  in  their  ears. 
But  in  the  end  he  turned  down  toward  the 
shore  and  so  into  Ship  Street  and  saw  the 
swinging  sign  of  the  King's  Head  Tavern 
ahead  and  was  presently  beating  a  gay  tattoo 
on  the  portal  of  Master  William  Elkins,  Mer- 
chant. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  SPOTTED  ARROW 

THE  rest  of  that  day  passed  quickly  and  en- 
joy ably,  for  Raph  Elkins  took  David  under 
his  wing  and,  until  it  was  time  for  the  evening 
meal,  the  two  lads  viewed  the  town  and 
loitered  along  the  shore  and  wharves  where 
many  ships  were  at  anchor.  Fascinating 
odors  filled  their  nostrils  and  romantic 
sights  held  them  enthralled.  Perhaps  Raph 
was  less  engaged  than  David,  for  he  was  more 
accustomed  to  the  shipping,  but  he  enjoyed 
his  cousin's  pleasure  and  through  it  found  a 
new  enthusiasm.  To  David  the  sea  and  the 
ships  that  sailed  it  had  ever  held  a  strong 
appeal,  and  secretly  he  entertained  the 
longing  that  most  boys  have  for  the  feel  of  a 
swaying  deck  and  for  all  the  exciting  adven- 
tures that  were  supposed  to  befall  —  and  fre- 
quently did  —  the  hardy  mariners  of  those 
days.  Piracy  was  still  a  popular  trade  in 
southern  waters,  and  Teach  and  Bradish  and 
Bellamy,  and  even  the  renowned  William 
Kidd,  were  names  to  bring  a  romantic  flutter 


42  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

to  the  heart  of  a  healthy  lad.  Whether,  could 
he  have  had  his  way,  David  would  have  cast 
his  lot  with  the  privateers  —  who  were  but 
pirates  under  a  more  polite  title  —  or  with 
those  who  sought  to  suppress  them,  I  do  not 
know! 

When  they  returned  to  the  house,  Master 
William  Elkins  had  returned  and  they  sat 
down  to  supper.  David's  uncle  was  a  some- 
what pompous  man  of  forty-odd,  very  proper 
as  to  dress  and  deportment,  and  who  ruled 
his  household  with  a  stern  hand.  Yet  withal 
he  was  kind  of  heart  and  secretly  held  David 
in  much  affection.  Since  his  wife's  death  the 
domestic  affairs  had  been  looked  after  by  a 
certain  Mistress  Fairdaye,  who  occupied  a 
position  midway  between  that  of  servant  and 
housewife,  taking  her  meals  with  the  family 
and  ruling  in  her  own  realm  quite  as  inflexi- 
bly as  Master  Elkins  commanded  over  all. 
David  often  pitied  Raph,  for  what  between 
his  father  and  Mistress  Fairdaye  he  spent 
what  seemed  to  the  younger  lad  a  very  dreary 
and  suppressed  existence.  But  Raph  ap- 
peared not  to  mind  it.  Indeed,  unlike  David, 
he  had  little  of  the  adventurous  in  his  make- 
up and  restraint  did' not  irk  him.  He  was  a 
rather  thick-set  youth,  quiet  in  manner  and 


THE    SPOTTED   ARROW         43 

even  sober,  having  doubtless  found  little  to 
make  him  otherwise  in  his  staid  life.  Yet 
when  David  was  about  he  could  be  quite 
lively  and  would  enter  into  their  mild  adven- 
tures with  a  fair  grace. 

Supper  was  a  serious  affair  at  Master 
Elkins's.  After  the  blessing  had  been  asked, 
they  set  to  in  a  silence  that  was  seldom 
broken  until  the  meal  was  at  an  end.  David, 
who  had  experienced  too  much  excitement  to 
be  heartily  hungry,  was  finished  before  the 
rest  and  thereafter  amused  himself  by  kick- 
ing Raph's  shins  beneath  the  table,  maintain- 
ing an  innocence  of  countenance  that  threw 
no  light  on  the  squirmings  of  his  cousin  who, 
in  an  effort  to  avoid  punishment,  called 
down  a  reprimand  from  his  father  for  his 
unseemly  antics. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  was  spent  in  con- 
versation, David  delivering  some  messages 
to  his  uncle  from  his  father  and  recounting 
the  warning  given  by  Monapikot  and,  in  re- 
turn, listening  to  a  lengthy  discourse  on  the 
political  affairs  of  the  Colony,  much  of  which 
he  did  not  comprehend.  It  was  decided, 
though,  by  Master  Elkins  that  David  was  not 
to  make  the  return  journey  alone,  but  that 
three  of  the  town  Indians  should  accompany 


44  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

him.  David  took  no  pleasure  from  the  deci- 
sion, for,  as  toilsome  as  the  trip  would  have 
been,  he  had  looked  forward  to  it  eagerly, 
anxious  to  put  his  strength  and  endurance 
to  the  test.  But  his  uncle  was  not  one  to  be 
disputed  and  David  agreed  to  the  arrange- 
ment with  the  best  face  he  could.  Bedtime 
came  early,  but,  after  he  and  Raph  had  put 
out  the  candle  in  the  little  sloping-roofed 
room  at  the  top  of  the  house,  they  talked  for 
a  long  while.  Even  then  it  was  Raph  who 
first  dropped  off  to  slumber,  and  David  lay 
for  some  time  more  quite  wide  awake  in  the 
darkness,  watching  through  the  little  small- 
paned  window  the  twinkling  lights  on  the 
ships  in  the  town  cove. 

His  purchases  were  made  by  mid-morning 
and  at  a  little  after  ten  o'clock  Raph  accom- 
panied him  to  Blackstone's  Point  whither 
the  porters  from  the  stores  had  borne  his 
goods  and  where  three  stolid  and  unattrac- 
tive Indians  were  awaiting.  Raph  bade  him 
farewell  and  repeated  a  promise  to  visit  him 
in  the  summer,  and  the  canoe,  propelled  by 
two  of  the  savages,  began  its  return  voyage. 
Since  but  one  of  his  copper-skinned  compan- 
ions carried  a  weapon,  a  battered  flintlock, 
David  could  not  see  that  he  was  much  safer 


THE    SPOTTED   ARROW         45 

from  attack  by  hostiles  than  if  he  had  made 
the  journey  alone.  The  armed  savage  was 
known  as  Isaac  Trot,  whatever  his  real  name 
may  have  been,  and  was  an  ancient,  watery- 
eyed  Massachusett,  one  of  the  few  remaining 
remnants  of  that  once  numerous  tribe.  He 
squatted  forward  of  David,  his  gun  across  his 
knees,  and,  save  for  a  grunted  word  of  direc- 
tion to  the  paddlers,  gave  all  his  attention  to 
his  pipe. 

At  noon  they  stopped  for  dinner,  by  which 
time  they  had  reached  the  rapids  near  Wa- 
tertown.  Going  down  David  had  shot  the 
rapids  without  difficulty,  no  hard  task  in  an 
empty  canoe,  but  now  it  was  necessary  to 
carry,  and  so  when  the  food  had  been  eaten, 
the  bundles  were  lifted  from  the  craft  and 
they  set  out  by  the  well-trodden  path  that 
skirted  the  river.  David  shared  the  burdens, 
taking  for  his  load  a  sack  of  wheat  for  seed- 
ing and  his  gun.  Isaac  shouldered  the  canoe 
and  the  other  two  Indians  managed  the  rest. 
David,  well  aware  of  the  Indian  weakness 
for  thievery,  watched  attentively,  and  yet, 
when  the  canoe  was  again  loaded  above  the 
rapids,  one  package  was  missing.  He  faced 
Isaac  sternly. 

"  There  were  eight  pieces,  Isaac,"  he  said. 


46  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"Now  there  are  but  seven.  Go  back  and 
catchum  other  piece." 

Isaac  looked  stupidly  about  the  canoe  and 
the  ground,  puffing  leisurely  on  his  pipe.  At 
last:  "  No  seeum,"  he  said  stolidly. 

"  Go  look,"  commanded  David.  Then  he 
pointed  to  the  others.  "  You  go  look  too. 
Catchum  bundle  or  you  catchum  licking." 

Isaac  shook  his  head.  "  Seven  pieces,"  he 
declared.  "  All  there,  master." 

"  No,  there  were  eight  when  we  started," 
replied  the  boy  firmly.  "  You  find  the  other 
one  or  you'll  go  to  jail,  Isaac.  All  three  go 
to  jail.  Quog  quash!  Hurry!" 

Isaac  looked  cunningly  from  David  to  the 
others,  considering.  But  something  in  the 
boy's  face  told  him  he  had  best  produce  the 
missing  bundle,  and  with  a  grunt  he  turned 
back,  followed  by  his  companions.  Five  min- 
utes later  they  returned,  one  of  the  paddlers 
bearing  the  bundle.  No  explanation  was  of- 
fered, nor  did  David  expect  any.  The  pack- 
age, containing  tobacco  and  cloth,  was 
placed  in  the  canoe  and  the  journey  began 
again.  The  river  was  full  and  the  current 
swift,  especially  where  the  banks  were  close 
together  as  was  frequently  the  case  between 
the  carry  and  the  lake,  and  the  Indians  made 


THE    SPOTTED   ARROW         47 

slow  progress.  David  had  to  acknowledge  to 
himself  that  he  would  have  found  that  return 
trip  a  hard  task,  and  any  lingering  resent- 
ment felt  toward  his  uncle  disappeared.  Had 
he  been  alone  it  would  have  taken  him  a 
good  half-hour  to  have  moved  the  goods  over 
the  carry,  making  no  less  than  six  trips, 
while  the  struggle  against  the  current  would 
doubtless  have  kept  him  from  reaching  home 
until  well  after  darkness. 

They  met  but  three  other  voyagers  on 
their  journey  and  saw  no  Indians,  friendly 
or  hostile,  and  just  at  sunset  pulled  the  canoe 
to  shore  and  again  shouldered  the  goods. 
David's  father  was  surprised  at  sight  of  the 
procession  that  came  out  of  the  woods  toward 
the  house,  but,  on  hearing  the  boy's  story, 
agreed  that  Master  Elkins  had  ordered 
wisely.  The  Indians  were  paid  off  and  given 
food  and  tobacco  and  took  themselves  away 
again,  while  David,  in  spite  of  having  done 
but  little  to  earn  his  passage,  fell  to  on  his 
supper  with  noble  hunger.  As  he  ate  —  his 
father  and  Obid  having  already  supped  —  he 
told  of  his  meeting  with  Monapikot  and  of 
the  latter's  news,  and  Master  Lindall  listened 
in  all  gravity  and  Obid  Dawkin  in  uncon- 
cealed alarm. 


48  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  Tis  as  I  have  told  all  along,"  declared 
Obid,  his  thin  voice  more  than  ever  like  a 
rusted  wheel  in  his  excitement.  "  None  is 
safe  in  his  bed  so  long  as  these  naked  mur- 
derers be  allowed  to  dwell  in  the  same  coun- 
try !  Think  you  I  shall  stay  here  to  have  my 
scalp  lifted  ?  I  give  you  notice,  Master  Lin- 
dall,  that  so  soon  as  the  porridge  be  cooked 
in  the  morning  I  take  my  departure.  The 
dear  Lord  knows  that  'tis  little  enough  hair 
I  have  left  at  best,  and  that  little  I  would 
keep,  an  it  please  Him!  To-morrow  morn- 
ing, Master  Lindall!  Say  not  that  I  failed 
to  give  you  full  notice." 

"Be  quiet  a  moment,"  replied  the  master 
calmly.  "  I  must  think  what  best  to  do. 
Master  Vernham  should  be  acquainted  with 
this  so  soon  as  may  be,  for  if  it  prove  true 
that  this  Wachoosett  sachem  means  mischief 
'tis  Master  Vernham  that,  being  nigher,  they 
will  first  assail.  Methinks  I  had  best  go  over 
there  at  once  and  give  him  warning.  You 
will  go  with  me,  Obid?  " 

Nathan  Lindall's  eyes  twinkled.  Obid 
turned  a  dour  face  toward  him.  "  Not  I,  in 
sooth,  master!  The  forest  has  no  liking  for 
me  since  I  have  heard  David's  tale." 

*  Then  David  shall  come  and  you  shall  re- 


THE    SPOTTED    ARROW         49 

main  to  guard  the  house.  Perhaps  that  were 
better,  for  should  the  savages  attack  while  we 
be  gone  you  will  be  more  able  to  cope  with 
them  than  the  lad." 

Obid's  dismay  brought  a  chuckle  from 
David.  "  Whether  I  go  or  stay,"  he  shrilled, 
"  it  seems  I  must  be  murdered,  then !  Nay, 
I  will  accompany  you,  for  at  least  in  the 
forest  I  may  have  a  chance  to  save  myself  in 
flight,  whereas  an  I  bide  here  I  must  likely 
burn  to  death  like  a  rabbit  in  a  brush-heap ! 
But  in  the  morning,  master  —  " 

"Twice  you  have  informed  me  of  that, 
Obid.  Get  your  hat  and  gun  and  let  us  be 
off,  magpie.  Mayhap  if  we  haste  we  can 
be  back  before  it  be  fully  dark." 

Obid  obeyed  grumblingly,  and  soon  they 
had  set  forth,  leaving  David  to  make  fast 
the  door  and  windows  and  await  their  re- 
turn. 

It  would  be  untrue  to  say  that  David  felt 
no  uneasiness,  but  his  uneasiness  was  not 
fear.  Besides  his  own  musket  and  the  two 
that  his  father  and  Obid  had  taken  with 
them  there  was  a  fourth  at  hand  as  well  as  a 
pistol  that,  although  of  uncertain  accuracy, 
could  be  used  if  required,  and  against  a  few 
Indians  armed  only  with  bows  and  arrows 


50  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

he  felt  more  than  a  match.  Small  openings 
at  the  level  of  a  man's  head,  and  none  so 
greatly  above  the  level  of  David's,  pierced 
the  four  walls  and  from  these  at  intervals 
the  boy  peered  out.  The  house  was  set  in  a 
clearing  of  sufficient  area  to  protect  from 
sudden  attack,  and  from  the  nearer  forest  an 
arrow  would  fall  spent  before  it  reached  the 
dwelling.  Even  when  darkness  had  settled, 
the  stars  gave  enough  light  to  have  revealed 
to  sharp  eyes  the  presence  of  a  skulking  fig- 
ure. Between  watching,  David  replenished 
the  fire  and  dipped  into  one  of  two  books 
that  he  had  brought  back  with  him,  but  he 
was  in  no  mind  for  settled  reading  and,  when 
the  better  part  of  two  hours  had  passed, 
heard  not  without  relief  the  sound  of  his 
father's  voice  at  the  edge  of  the  wood. 

"  Master  Vernham  had  already  heard  ru- 
mors of  mischief  against  him,"  said  Nathan 
Lindall  when  he  had  entered,  "  and  we  might 
have  spared  ourselves  the  journey.  He  seems 
not  concerned,  but  has  agreed  to  observe 
caution.  He  thinks  the  threats  came  first 
from  the  Indians  we  drove  away  and  are  but 
repeated  and  adorned  as  tales  ever  are.  Yet 
for  my  part,  David,  I  am  not  so  easy.  Tis 
a  time  of  unrest,  and  for  a  while  it  will  be 


THE    SPOTTED   ARROW         51 

the  part  of  wisdom  to  stray  not  far  into  the 
forest,  and  never  unarmed.  What  say  you, 
Obid?" 

"  I  say  naught,  master.  If  you  choose  to 
bide  here  and  be  done  to  death,  'tis  your  own 
matter.  But  as  for  me,  to-morrow  morn  I 
leave!" 

"  Then  'twere  best  you  fortified  yourself 
with  sleep,"  replied  Nathan  Lindall  dryly, 
"  for  the  journey  is  long." 

"  Sleep,  say  you !  Not  a  wink  of  sleep  shall 
I  have  this  night.  If  die  I  must  'twill  be 
whilst  I'm  awake  and  command  all  my  fac- 
ulties." 

"  Think  you,  Obid,"  asked  David  slyly, 
"  that  being  scalped  be  the  more  pleasant  for 
missing  no  part  of  it?  " 

"  Peace,  David,"  said  his  father.  "  'Tis 
not  seemly  to  jest  on  so  serious  a  matter. 
Be  off  to  bed,  lad." 

Once  in  the  night  David  awoke  and,  listen- 
ing to  the  hearty  sounds  that  came  from  the 
farther  end  of  the  attic,  smiled.  "  Faith," 
he  thought  sleepily  as  he  turned  over,  "  if 
Obid  be  still  awake  he  has  not  the  sound 
of  it!" 

Perhaps  sleep  brought  counsel  to  Obid, 
for  in  the  morning  there  was  no  more  talk 


52  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

of  leaving;  though,  for  that  matter,  neither 
Nathan  Lindall  nor  David  had  taken  the 
servant's  threat  seriously.  Whatever  could 
be  said  of  Obid,  he  was  no  coward,  while, 
even  if  he  had  been,  his  devotion  to  his  mas- 
ter would  have  proved  stronger  than  his 
timidity.  That  day  all  three  worked  hard  in 
the  fields.  Although  their  muskets  were 
ever  within  reach,  no  incident  caused  any 
alarm.  And  when  a  second  day  had  likewise 
passed  uneventfully,  even  Obid  Dawkin 
grudgingly  allowed  that  maybe  the  danger 
was  not  so  present  as  he  had  feared.  But  on 
the  third  morning  there  was  another  tale  to 
tell  when  Obid,  opening  the  door  to  fetch 
water  from  the  well,  dropped  his  pail  and  fell 
back  with  a  groan  that  brought  the  others  to 
his  side.  Obid,  white-faced,  pointed  to  the 
stone  step  outside.  There  in  the  first  ray  of 
sunlight  lay  an  arrow  wrapped  about  with 
the  dried  skin  of  a  rattlesnake. 


CHAPTER  V 
DAVID  VISITS  THE  PRAYING  VILLAGE 

"  IT  seems  he  gives  fair  warning,"  said  Na- 
than Lindall  quietly  as  he  stooped  and  lifted 
the  horrid  token  from  the  step.  The  snake- 
skin  rustled  as  his  hand  touched  it,  and  Obid, 
peering  over  his  shoulder,  shuddered  in  dis- 
gust. David  was  already  outside,  his  keen 
eyes  searching  the  moist  ground.  A  dozen 
steps  he  took  and  then  pointed  toward  the 
woods  to  the  west. 

"  Thence  he  came,  sir,  and  went,"  he  an- 
nounced. 

"  One  only?  "  asked  his  father. 
"  Aye,  though  there  may  have  been  more 
beyond  the  clearing." 

"  What  mean  the  blue  spots  on  the  arrow, 
master?  "  asked  Obid  troubledly. 

Nathan  Lindall  looked  at  the  three  stains 
on  the  slender  shaft  and  shook  his  head. 
"  I  know  not,  Obid,  unless  they  be  this  sa- 
chem's signature.  Or  mayhap  they  have  a 
more  trenchant  meaning.  What  matter?  He 
has  put  us  on  our  guard,  though  for  what 
reason  I  cannot  discern." 


54  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  Then  can  I,  master,"  said  Obid  bitterly. 
"  Murder  be  enough  for  the  bloody-minded 
savage,  but  he  must  even  forewarn  us  that 
we  may  suffer  first  in  anticipation  of  our 
fate." 

"  Nay,"  said  David.  "  Tis  the  Indian 
way  to  give  challenge,  and  by  so  doing  fight 
fairly,  Obid.  When  all  is  said,  father,  he  has 
done  us  a  kindness,  for  now  we  know  of  a 
certainty  that  he  means  us  harm  and  we  can 
be  more  than  ever  on  our  guard." 

"  Tis  a  childish  play,"  said  Nathan  Lin- 
dall,  "  and  none  but  a  child  would  be  dis- 
turbed thereby."  He  made  as  if  to  break  the 
arrow  in  his  hands,  but  David  spoke  quickly. 

"  Let  me  have  it,  father.  'Tis  like  none 
other  I  have  seen  and  I  would  keep  it." 

"  A  pretty  keepsake,  indeed,"  muttered 
Obid,  as  he  went  back  to  his  tasks.  "  Have 
no  fear  but  that  they  be  waiting  to  give  us 
plenty  more  of  its  like !  " 

The  incident  could  not  fail  to  cast  a  shade 
of  gloom  over  the  morning  meal,  and  all 
three  were  more  silent  than  usual.  Soon 
after  they  had  finished,  there  came  a  hail 
from  the  front  and  Master  William  Vern- 
ham  and  a  servant  approached.  Their  neigh- 
bor was  a  tall,  grim-faced  man  of  upwards 


DAVID  VISITS  PRAYING  VILLAGE    55 

of  fifty,  long  of  leg  and  arm,  clean-shaven 
save  for  the  veriest  wisp  of  grizzled  hair  upon 
his  lip.  He  bore  with  him  another  such  ar- 
row as  Obid  had  stumbled  upon  and  was  in 
a  fine  temper  over  it. 

"  On  my  very  doorsill  'twas  lain,  Master 
Lindall!  Did  ever  one  know  of  such  inso- 
lence? What,  pray,  is  the  Colony  come  to 
when  these  red  devils  be  allowed  to  come  and 
go  at  will,  indulging  themselves  in  all  man- 
ner of  mischief  and  seeking  to  frighten  hon- 
est folk  with  such  clownish  tricks?  Gover- 
nor Leverett  shall  know  of  this  ere  night,  and 
if  he  fail  to  dispatch  militia  to  clear  the  coun- 
try hereabouts  of  the  varmints,  then  I  shall 
call  on  you,  Nathan  Lindall,  and  all  others 
within  reach  to  aid  me  in  the  task,  for  pa- 
tience is  no  longer  a  virtue." 

"  The  task  will  be  no  easy  one,"  answered 
Master  Lindall,  "  for  these  Indians  are  but 
a  handful  and  seeking  for  them  will  be  like 
seeking  a  needle  in  a  haymow.  But  you  may 
count  on  me  to  aid,  Master  Vernham.  As  for 
asking  help  of  the  Governor,  I  fear  'twill  be 
but  a  waste  of  time,  for  we  be  too  far  from 
the  towns  to  cause  him  concern.  'Twill  be 
best  to  take  the  law  into  our  own  hands,  as 
you  have  said." 


56  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  Aye,  that  be  true.  What  disposition, 
think  you,  will  be  made  of  that  Nausauwah 
that  we  took  prisoner  to  Boston?  " 

"  I  know  not.  Perchance  'twere  best  for 
our  heads  were  he  set  free  with  a  fine,  since, 
from  what  I  make  of  it,  this  Metipom's  quar- 
rel with  us  is  on  his  account." 

William  Vernham  shook  his  head  stoutly. 
"  Nay,  that  were  truckling  with  the  villains. 
Rather  shall  I  beg  the  Governor  to  hang  the 
wastrel  on  Gallows  Hill  as  soon  as  may  be. 
'Tis  not  fair  dealing  that  the  savages  require, 
but  harshness.  They  construe  justice  to  be 
weakness  in  their  heathen  ignorance."  He 
continued  in  like  vein,  so  finally  working  off 
his  anger.  Then :  "  What  think  you  of  this, 
Neighbor  Lindall  ?  "  he  asked  at  length. 
"  Will  these  skulking  devils  try  to  burn  our 
houses  about  our  heads  or  pick  us  off  the 
while  we  toil  in  the  fields  ?  " 

"  Perchance  no  more  will  come  of  it," 
was  the  answer.  "  As  I  understand  the  sa- 
chem's meaning,  he  bids  us  release  his  son 
or  else  our  lives  will  be  forfeit.  Having  sent 
his  message  he  must  wait  a  time  for  our 
answer.  An  he  wait  long  enough  his  petty 
quarrel  will  be  as  but  a  flea-bite  in  the  greater 
trouble  that  will  be  upon  us." 


DAVID  VISITS  PRAYING  VILLAGE    57 

"  You  still  look  for  a  rising?  Tush,  tush, 
Master  Lindall ;  I  tell  you  this  King  Philip, 
as  they  call  him,  has  not  the  courage.  He  but 
brags  in  his  cups.  Nay,  nay,  such  annoy- 
ances as  this  we  shall  have  to  put  up  with 
until  the  country  be  cleaned  of  the  vermin, 
but  as  for  another  such  war  as  was  fought 
with  the  Pequots,  why,  that  cannot  be.  Well, 
I  must  be  off.  To-morrow  you  shall  hear 
from  me  so  soon  as  I  return  from  Boston." 

"  I  would  I  were  as  certain  as  he,"  mur- 
mured Nathan  Lindall  as  the  visitors  de- 
parted. 

Three  days  later,  the  Governor  having  dis- 
patched one  Sergeant  Major  Whipple  to  take 
command  of  the  settlers,  some  sixteen  of  the 
latter  met  at  Master  Vernham's,  well  armed, 
and  made  diligent  search  for  many  miles 
about,  finding  numerous  wandering  Indians 
to  whom  no  blame  could  be  laid,  but  failing 
to  apprehend  or  even  discover  trace  of  any 
hostile  savages.  So  for  the  time  ended  the 
incident  of  the  spotted  arrows,  and  the  mem- 
ory of  it  dimmed,  and  while  Nathan  Lindall 
and  William  Vernham  and  their  households 
were  careful  to  go  well  armed  about  their 
duties,  and  a  watch  was  kept  throughout  the 
nights,  yet  after  a  fortnight  vigilance  waned, 


58  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

and  even  Obid  was  found  by  David  fast 
asleep  one  night  when  he  should  have  been 
awake  and  watchful.  By  this  time  June  had 
come  in  hot  and  the  corn  was  planted  in  the 
south  field,  and  the  kitchen  garden  was 
already  showing  the  green  sprouts  of  carrots 
and  parsnips  and  turnips  and  other  vegeta- 
bles which  grew,  it  seemed,  fully  as  well  as 
in  England.  Then,  on  a  day  when  there  was 
a  lapse  of  work  for  him  to  do,  David  set 
forth  for  Natick  to  see  Monapikot  again, 
since,  in  spite  of  the  Pegan's  promise  to  come 
within  the  week,  David  had  seen  naught  of 
him.  By  river  the  distance  to  the  village  of 
the  Praying  Indians  was  nearly  twenty  miles, 
so  devious  was  the  stream's  winding  course, 
whereas  on  foot  it  was  but  a  matter  of  four 
or  five.  And  yet  David  might  well  hesitate 
in  the  choice  of  routes,  for  by  land  the  way 
led  through  the  Long  Marsh,  which  would 
have  been  more  appropriately  called  bog,  and 
save  for  what  runways  the  deer  had  made 
therein  there  was  no  sort  of  trail.  It  was  the 
thought  of  having  to  remain  at  the  village 
overnight  that  finally  decided  David  to  take 
the  land  route,  and  he  set  out  early  one 
morning  with  musket  across  his  shoulder 
and  bread  and  meat  in  his  pouch,  and  in  his 


DAVID  VISITS  PRAYING  VILLAGE    59 

ears  his  father's  injunction  to  be  watchful. 
His  way  led  him  along  the  brook  that 
flowed  into  the  clearing,  for  it  was  by  follow- 
ing that  stream  that  he  would  unfailingly 
reach  the  first  of  the  two  large  ponds  lying 
between  him  and  the  Indian  village.  Now 
and  then,  after  he  had  passed  into  the  forest, 
he  was  able  to  walk  briskly,  but  for  the  most 
part  he  had  to  make  his  own  path,  since  for 
the  last  year  or  two  the  woods  had  not  been 
fired  thereabouts  by  the  Indians  and  the  un- 
derbrush had  grown  up  rankly.  Presently  a 
small  pond  barred  his  way  and  he  was  some 
time  finding  the  brook  again.  The  most  of 
two  hours  had  gone  before  the  first  of  the 
two  large  ponds  lay  before  him.  It  was  a  full 
half-mile  long  and  lay  in  a  veritable  quag- 
mire over  which  David  had  to  make  his  way 
with  caution  lest  he  step  between  the  knolls 
or  the  uncertain  hummocks  of  grass  and  sink 
to  his  middle,  which  had  happened  to  him 
before.  Many  water  birds  swam  upon  the 
pond,  and  had  he  been  minded  to  add  game 
to  his  bag  he  might  easily  have  done  so. 
Mosquitoes  attacked  him  ravenously,  for 
the  country  was  low-lying  and  no  breeze  dis- 
pelled the  sultry  stillness  of  the  morning, 
and,  when  laden  with  a  gun  and  balancing 


6o 

one's  self  on  a  swaying  tuft  of  grass,  fighting 
the  vicious  insects  was  no  graceful  task! 
Alders  and  swamp  willows  barred  his  path 
and  creeping  vines  sought  to  trip  him,  and  it 
was  not  long  before  he  was  in  a  fine  condi- 
tion of  perspiration  —  and  exasperation  as 
well. 

At  length  a  well-defined  trail  came  to  his 
rescue  and  led  him  around  the  end  of  the 
first  pond  and  above  the  head  of  the  second, 
although  he  had  to  ford  a  shallow,  muddy 
stream  on  the  way.  More  marsh  followed 
and  then  the  ground  grew  higher  and  pines 
and  hemlocks  and  big-girthed  oaks  took  the 
place  of  the  switches.  This  second  pond  was 
a  handsome  expanse,  lying  blue  and  unruf- 
fled under  the  June  sky  with  the  reflection  of 
white,  fluffy  clouds  mirrored  therein.  As  he 
neared  the  southern  extremity  of  it,  where  it 
ended  in  a  small  cove,  his  eyes  fell  on  a 
canoe  formed  of  a  hollowed  pine  trunk  from 
which  two  squaws  were  fishing.  The  Indian 
women  viewed  him  incuriously  as  he  passed 
amongst  the  trees.  They  were,  as  he  knew, 
dwellers  in  Master  Eliot's  village,  now  but  a 
scant  mile  distant.  Even  as  he  watched, 
there  was  a  splashing  of  the  still  surface  be- 
side the  dugout  and  a  fine  bass  leaped  into 


DAVID  VISITS  PRAYING  VILLAGE    61 

the  sunlight.  David  paused  and  watched 
with  a  tingle  of  his  pulse  while  the  squaw 
who  had  hooked  the  fish  cautiously  drew  him 
nearer  the  side  of  the  canoe.  The  bass  fought 
gamely,  again  and  again  flopping  well  out  of 
the  pond  in  the  effort  to  shake  free  of  the 
hook  that  held  him,  but  his  struggles  were 
vain,  and  presently  a  short  spear  of  sharp- 
ened wood  was  thrust  from  the  canoe  and  a 
naked  brown  arm  swept  upward  and  the  bass 
sparkled  for  an  instant  in  the  sunlight  ere  he 
disappeared  in  the  bottom  of  the  craft.  No 
sign  of  pride  or  satisfaction  disturbed  the 
countenance  of  the  Indian  woman.  She  bent 
for  a  moment  and  then  straightened  and 
her  newly  baited  hook  again  dropped  quietly 
into  the  water. 

"  Had  I  brought  such  a  monster  to  land," 
reflected  David,  "  I  should  be  now  singing 
for  joy!" 

In  the  spring  of  1675  the  Natick  Indian 
village  was  a  well-ordered  community.  It 
lay  upon  both  banks  of  the  Charles  River, 
with  an  arched  footbridge  laid  upon  strong 
stone  piers  between.  Several  wide  streets 
were  laid  out  upon  which  the  dwellings  faced 
and  each  family  had  its  own  allotted  ground 
for  garden  and  pasture.  Save  for  the  meet- 


62  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

ing-house,    a    story-and-a-half    erection    of 
rough-hewn  timbers  enclosed  in  a  palisaded 
fort,  wooden  buildings  were  scarce,  since  the 
Indians  clung  to  their  own  style  of  dwelling. 
Some  half-hundred  wigwams  composed  the 
village,  although  not  all  were  then  occupied. 
There  were  many  neat  gardens,  and  fruit- 
trees  abounded.  Altogether  the  village  looked 
prosperous  and  contented  as  David  came 
toward  it  that  June  morning.   The  streets 
were  given  over  chiefly  to  the  children,  it 
seemed,  and  these  used  them  as  playgrounds. 
At  the  door  of  a  wigwam  a  squaw  sat  here 
and  there  at  some  labor,  but  industry  was 
not  a  notable  feature  of  the  village.     Save 
that  a  dog  barked  at  him,  David's  arrival 
went  unchallenged,  and  he  crossed  the  long 
footbridge  and  sought  the  palisade  where  he 
thought  to  find  Pikot  at  his  duties  of  teach- 
ing the  younger  men  and  women.   A  lodge 
rather  more  pretentious  than  the  rest  was  the 
residence  of  the  sachem  Waban,  a  Nipmuck 
who  had  lived  previously  at  Nonantum  and 
who  had  become  the  most  prominent  of  Mas- 
ter Eliot's  disciples  and,  it  is  thought,  the 
most  earnest.  Waban  had  married  a  daugh- 
ter of  the  famous  Tahattawan,  sachem  of 
the  country  about  the  Concord  River,  him- 


DAVID  VISITS  PRAYING  VILLAGE    63 

self  a  convert  to  Christianity  and  a  teacher 
of  it  amongst  his  people.  Besides  being  sa- 
chem, Waban  likewise  held  the  office  of  jus- 
tice of  the  peace,  and  it  was  he  who  had  a  few 
years  before  written  the  laconic  warrant  for 
the  arrest  of  an  offender  named  Jeremiah 
Offscow :  "  To  you  big  constable,  quick  you 
catch  um,  strong  you  hold  um,  safe  you  bring 
urn  afore  me,  Waban,  justice  peace."  Da- 
vid knew  the  sachem  well  and  meant  to  visit 
him  before  he  left,  but  now  he  kept  on  to  the 
meeting-house  wherein  the  school  was  held 
on  week-days  and  where  the  Reverend  John 
Eliot  discoursed  to  the  Indians,  and,  usually, 
to  a  few  English  besides,  on  the  Sabbath.  The 
preacher  lived  when  at  the  village  in  a  small 
chamber  divided  off  from  the  attic  above. 

David  found  Pikot  busy  with  another 
teacher  inside  the  building,  and  seated  him- 
self within  the  door  to  wait.  Some  fourteen 
or  fifteen  pupils,  the  younger  members  of  the 
community,  were  at  their  lessons,  and  David 
had  perforce  to  own  that  they  indeed  be- 
haved with  more  decorum  than  a  like  num- 
ber of  English  would  have.  Now  and  then  a 
sly  glance  of  curiosity  came  David's  way 
from  a  pair  of  dark  eyes,  but  for  the  most 
Dart  his  presence  went  unheeded.  The  In- 


64  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

dians'  voices  sounded  flat  and  expressionless 
as  they  answered  the  questions  put  to  them 
or  recited  in  unison  a  portion  of  the  lesson. 
Indeed,  David  much  questioned  that  they 
fully  understood  what  they  said  save  as  a 
parrot  might!  After  a  while  the  class  was 
dismissed  and  went  sedately  forth,  boys  and 
girls  alike,  and  Pikot  joined  David  and  led 
him  out  of  the  building  and  through  the  pal- 
isade gate  and  so  to  the  river  where,  on  a 
flat  stone  above  the  stream,  they  sat  them- 
selves and  began  their  talk. 

"  You  came  not  for  the  fishing,  Straight 
Arrow,"  charged  David.  "  To  an  Indian  who 
does  not  keep  his  word  I  have  naught  to 
say." 

Pikot  smiled.  "  True,  Noawama,  yet 
'twas  not  of  choice  that  I  failed  you.  I  went 
a  long  journey  that  took  many  days  and  I 
could  not  send  you  word." 

"  A  long  journey?  "  asked  David  eagerly. 
"Whither  did  you  go?" 

The  Indian's  expression  became  strangely 
blank  as  he  waved  his  hand  vaguely  west- 
ward. "Toward  the  Great  River,  David." 

"That  they  call  the  Connecticote ?  Tell 
me  of  your  journey,  Pikot.  What  did  you 
go  for?" 


DAVID  VISITS  PRAYING  VILLAGE    65 

"  The  business  was  not  mine,  brother,  and 
I  may  not  talk." 

"  Oh,  well,  have  your  secrets  then.  And 
I'll  have  mine." 

Monapikot  smiled  faintly.  "  And  if  I 
guess  them?  " 

"  I  give  you  leave,  O  Brother  of  the  Owl," 
jeered  David. 

The  Indian  half  closed  his  eyes  and  peered 
at  the  tops  of  the  tall  pines  that  crowned  the 
hill.  "Came  one  by  night  through  the  for- 
est," he  said  slowly  in  his  native  tongue. 
"  The  skin  of  a  panther  hung  about  him  and 
he  was  armed  only  with  a  knife.  As  the 
weasel  creeps  through  the  grass,  so  this  one 
crept  to  the  lodge  of  the  white  man  where  all 
were  asleep.  On  the  stone  without  the  door 
he  laid  a  message  from  his  sachem.  As  the 
fox  slinks  homeward  when  the  sun  arises, 
so  this  one  slunk  away.  The  forest  took  him 
and  he  vanished." 

"How  know  you  that?"  asked  David, 
affecting  great  surprise.  "  It  but  happened 
half  a  moon  ago  and  none  has  heard  of  it 
save  all  the  world!  Can  it  be  that  you  know 
also  what  the  message  was  like?  " 

"  An  arrow  wrapped  with  the  cast  skin  of 
a  rattlesnake,  brother." 


66  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  Wonderful !  And  it  may  be  that  you  can 
tell  how  the  arrow  was  made,  O  Great  Pow- 


wow." 


"  'Twas  headed  with  an  eagle's  claw  and 
tipped  with  gray  feathers.  Three  blue  marks 
were  on  it,  O  Noawama." 

David  frowned.  "  Now  as  to  that  I  won- 
der," he  said.  "  None  saw  the  arrow  save 
we  three.  How  then  could  you  know  that  the 
head  was  not  of  stone  or  the  horn  of  the 
deer?" 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  I  could  guess  your 
secret?  " 

"  Aye,  but  methinks  you  are  not  guessing, 
Pikot.  And  how  know  you  that  the  messen- 
ger came  unarmed  and  wearing  a  panther- 
skin?  " 

"How  know  you  that  I  speak  true?  "  asked 
Pikot,  smiling. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  David  rue- 
fully, "  but  I  would  almost  take  oath  to  it. 
Saw  you  this  Wachoosett,  Pikot?  " 

Pikot  shook  his  head.  "  Nay." 

"Then  how  —  " 

'  The  Wachoosetts  be  fond  of  panther- 
skins,  David,  and  the  braves  wear  them 
much,  as  I  know.  As  for  the  knife,  an  Indian 


DAVID  VISITS  PRAYING  VILLAGE    67 

has  no  use  for  bow  and  arrow  at  night,  nor, 
on  a  long  journey,  does  he  weight  himself 
with  a  tomahawk.  The  eagle  nests  in-  the 
great  hill  in  the  Wachoosett  country  and 
Wachoosett  people  arm  their  arrows  with  the 
eagle's  claws,  and  tip  them  with  feathers 
from  the  eagle's  wing.  As  for  the  blue  spots, 
that  I  heard,  brother." 

"  Oh!  "   But  David  viewed  Pikot  doubt- 
fully.   "  I  still  think  you  knew  more  than 
you  guessed.  But  'tis  no  matter.  This  Meti- 
pom   troubles   us   no   more.   Doubtless    he 
waits   to  find  whether  his   son  be  judged 
guilty  or  no.  How  far  is  this  country  of  the 
Wachoosetts,  Straight  Arrow?  " 
"  Maybe  twelve  leagues." 
"  No  farther  than  that?    Tis  but  a  half- 
day  journey  for  an  Indian,  then." 

"  Nay,  for  there  be  many  streams  and 
hills.  One  travels  not  as  an  eagle  flies, 
brother." 

"  True,  and  still  this  Metipom  lives  too 
near  for  my  liking.  Think  you  he  still  means 
mischief,  Pikot?  " 

"Aye,"  answered  the  Pegan  gravely. 
"  But  it  may  be,  as  you  say,  that  he  will  wait 
and  see  how  his  son  fares  in  the  court  in  Bos- 
ton. You  do  ill  to  travel  alone  through  the 


68  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

forest,  David,  and  when  you  return  I  will  go 
with  you." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  of  your  company,  but  I 
have  no  fear." 

"  Nor  had  the  lion,  and  yet  the  wolves 
ate  him."  Pikot  glanced!  at  the  .sun  and 
arose.  "  Come  and  eat  meat  with  me,  David, 
and  then  we  will  start  the  journey  back,  for 
I  would  have  you  safe  before  the  shadows 
are  long." 


CHAPTER  VI 
WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  POOL 

THE  sun  was  still  above  the  hills  when  Pikot 
bade  farewell  to  David  beyond  the  little  pond 
that  lay  somewhat  more  than  a  mile  from  his 
home.  The  Indian  would  have  gone  farther, 
but  David  protested  against  it. 

When  David  reached  the  house,  he  learned 
the  news  that  had  come  that  day  from  Bos- 
ton by  travelers  who  had  stopped  on  their 
way  to  Dedham.  Two  days  before  Pogga- 
panossoo,  otherwise  known  as  Tobias,  and 
Mattashinnamy  had  been  hanged  at  Ply- 
mouth. These  were  two  of  the  three  Indi- 
ans who  had  been  convicted  of  killing  Sas- 
samon  the  year  before,  and  Tobias  was  one 
of  King  Philip's  counselors.  The  third  In- 
dian under  sentence  had,  it  seemed,  been 
reprieved,  though  the  Dedham  men  did  not 
know  for  what  cause.  David's  father  took  a 
gloomy  view  of  the  affair. 

"  'Twere  better  had  they  let  them  lie  in 
jail  for  a  while  longer,"  he  said,  "  for  their 
execution  is  likely  to  prove  the  last  straw  to 
Philip,  who  has  long  been  seeking  a  nail 


70  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

upon  which  to  hang  a  quarrel.    I  fear  the 
skies  will  soon  be  red  again,  David.   I  like 


it  not.': 


"  But   these    Indians   were   fairly   tried, 
father,  and  surely  they  merited  their  punish- 


ment.'1 


"  Aye,  lad,  but  there  could  have  been  no 
harm  in  delay." 

"  But  if,  as  you  have  said,  a  strong  hand 
should  be  shown?  Will  not  King  Philip, 
mayhap,  take  warning  by  the  fate  of  these 
murderers  ?  " 

"  Wisely  said,"  piped  Obid,  busy  at  the 
hearth  with  the  preparation  of  the  evening 
meal.  "  An  those  of  the  Plymouth  Colony, 
as  well  as  we,  were  but  to  choose  every  other 
savage  and  hang  him,  'twould  put  a  quick 
end  to  these  troubles.  And  I  would  that  this 
Preacher  Eliot  were  here  to  hearken." 

"  Time  alone  will  tell,"  said  Nathan  Lin- 
dall  soberly.  "  Yet  the  men  from  Dedham 
were  not  so  minded.  They  foresee  war  with 
King  Philip  and  dread  that  he  will  persuade 
the  Narragansett  Indians  to  join  with  him. 
*  When  the  leaves,  are  on  the  trees/  said  Tan- 
opet." 

"We  here  are  far  distant  from  Philip, 
though,"  said  David. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  POOL    71 

"  Little  profit  there  will  be  in  that,"  said 
Obid  dourly,  "  with  fivescore  savages  but 
five  miles  distant  and  the  country  full  of 
wandering  marauders!  For  my  part,  I  tell 
you,  'twill  be  a  relief  to  me  when  my  scalp 
be  well  dangling  from  an  Indian  belt  and  I 
have  no  longer  to  worry  about  the  matter." 

"  Waban,  at  Natick,  is  a  firm  friend  of 
the  English,"  replied  David  stoutly.  "  There 
is  naught  to  fear  from  there.  Nor  do  I  be- 
lieve that  any  Nipmuck  will  take  arms 
against  us.  Indeed,  an  I  am  to  see  fighting, 
I  must,  methinks,  move  up  the  river  to  Ded- 
ham  or  join  the  Plymouth  men." 

"  Do  not  jest,  David,"  counseled  his 
father.  "  It  may  be  that  you  will  find  more 
fighting  than  will  suit  your  stomach." 

"  Meanwhile,"  answered  the  boy  gayly, 
"  here  is  what  suits  my  stomach  very  well. 
'Twould  be  a  monstrous  pity  to  scalp  you, 
Obid,  so  long  as  you  can  make  such  stew  as 
this!" 

A  week  went  by,  during  which  the  corn 
sprouted  finely,  coaxed  upward  by  gentle 
rains  that  came  at  night  and  vanished  with 
the  sun.  There  was  plenty  of  work  in  field 
and  garden  and  David  had  scant  time  for 
play.  Yet  he  found  opportunity  to  fish  in 


72  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

the  river  in  the  long  evenings,  paddling  up  to 
the  falls  and  dropping  his  line  in  the  deep, 
black  pools  there.  He  had  brought  some 
English  hooks  back  with  him  from  Boston 
and  liked  them  well.  No  more  news  came 
from  the  outer  world  save  that  at  Boston 
there  was  much  uneasiness  of  an  uprising  of 
the  Indians  and  drilling  of  the  militia  each 
day.  If  Philip  meant  mischief  he  bided  his 
time. 

The  days  grew  very  hot  and  the  river 
dwindled  in  its  bed.  The  brook  through  the 
clearing  was  no  more  than  a  trickle,  for  the 
spring  had  been  unusually  dry  and  the  little 
showers  no  more  than  dampened  the  soil. 
One  night  David  awoke  in  the  darkness  with 
the  sound  of  great  thunder  in  his  ears  and 
saw  the  window  flash  glaring  white  with  the 
lightning.  But  the  storm  passed  them  by, 
rumbling  off  at  last  into  the  north,  leaving 
the  ground  as  parched  as  before.  The  kitchen 
garden  must  be  watered  by  hand,  and,  lest 
the  well  go  dry,  David  carried  water  in 
buckets  from  the  small  pool  that  lay  in  the 
swamp  to  the  west,  stumbling  so  frequently 
on  his  way  back  that  the  pails  were  seldom 
more  than  half-filled  when  he  arrived.  Wil- 
liam Vernham  came  one  day  past  the  middle 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  POOL    73 

of  June  and  took  dinner  with  them,  being 
full  of  a  project  to  build  a  road  between  Na- 
than Linaall's  house  and  his  own  over  which 
one  might  travel  by  horseback.  David's 
father,  however,  was  faint-hearted  in  the 
matter,  since  the  distance  was  all  of  three 
miles  and  much  swampy  ground  intervened. 
Besides  which,  as  David,  listening  to  the 
talk,  thought,  but  did  not  say,  Master  Lin- 
dall  owned  no  horse.  In  the  end  the  visitor 
went  away  again  somewhat  disgruntled. 

So  passed  the  first  of  the  summer  very 
peacefully  until  July  had  come  in.  Then  one 
day  messengers  came  up  the  river  from  New- 
towne  with  the  news  so  long  dreaded.  King 
Philip  had  at  last  thrown  down  the  gauntlet. 
The  day  before  an  express  had  reached  Bos- 
ton from  the  Plymouth  Colony  bearing  a 
letter  from  Governor  Winslow  announcing 
that  an  attack  had  occurred  on  the  settle- 
ment at  Swansea  and  that  several  of  the 
English  had  been  killed.  Philip,  it  was  said, 
had  already  armed  more  than  a  thousand 
of  his  people  and  from  now  on  it  was  war  to 
the  knife.  Messengers  were  on  their  way  to 
the  Narragansetts  to  persuade  them  not  to 
join  forces  with  Philip  and  Governor  Lever- 
ett  had  offered  Governor  Winslow  aid  of 


74  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

arms  and  ammunition.  Meanwhile  the  train- 
bands were  preparing  in  case  of  need. 

To  David  the  tidings  were  not  wholly 
amiss,  for  the  prospect  of  bearing  arms  and 
fighting  against  King  Philip's  Indians  was 
enough  to  make  any  boy's  heart  beat  faster. 
Nathan  Lindall  seemed  in  better  spirits  for 
the  news  and  even  Obid  was  more  cheerful 
now  that  the  die  was  cast.  That  night  they 
sat  long  about  the  fire  and  cleaned  the  guns 
with  oil  and  fine  ashes  and  discussed  the 
matter  well.  It  was  southward  that  the  first 
trouble  would  come,  they  agreed,  and  so  Na- 
than Lindall  laid  plans  to  remove  his  cattle 
to  Natick  so  soon  as  necessity  was  shown 
and  join  the  men  of  Dedham.  Sleep  did  not 
come  readily  to  David  that  night,  and  Obid's 
snores  long  made  an  accompaniment  to  the 
visions  of  marches  and  bloody  battles  that 
visited  him  in  the  darkness.  And  yet  when 
the  new  day  came  life  was  disappointingly 
much  as  before.  There  was  corn  to  hoe  and 
weeds  to  be  pulled  and  the  sun  was  hotter 
than  ever  and  martial  glory  seemed  as  far 
away  as  ever. 

But  the  frontier  was  stirring  and  men 
came  and  went  by  land  and  river,  and  sel- 
dom a  day  passed  that  red  man  or  white  did 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  POOL    75 

not  pause  at  the  plantation  to  exchange  news 
and  opinions.  Of  these  was  Joe  Tanopet,  re- 
splendent in  a  ruffled  shirt  of  which  he 
seemed  very  proud,  and  which,  David  sus- 
pected, would  come  to  pieces  were  the  In- 
dian to  try  to  remove  it.  In  spite  of  the  heat 
Tanopet  wore  his  green  waistcoat,  for  asso- 
ciation with  the  English  had  convinced  him 
that  discomfort  and  respectability  were  in- 
separable. He  had  no  news  of  importance,  or 
professed  to  have  none,  and  said  that  he  had 
spent  the  month  fishing  in  the  Long  Pond 
beyond  Natick.  As  proof  of  the  assertion  he 
brought  eight  fat  bass,  which  Obid  subse- 
quently threw  to  the  hogs,  since,  as  he  said, 
they  had  been  overlong  from  their  native 
element. 

Word  came  from  Boston  that  Daniel 
Henchman,  the  schoolmaster,  had  been  cho- 
sen by  the  Council  to  be  Captain  of  Infantry 
and  that  able  soldiers  to  the  number  of  one 
hundred  were  shortly  to  march  under  him 
toward  the  south ;  and  also  that  a  company 
of  horse  was  forming  under  Captain  Pren- 
tice. Nathan  Lindall  went  up  to  Dedham 
one  morning  and  returned  late  that  night 
with  the  tidings  that  the  troops  had  left  Bos- 
ton the  day  before,  and  that  with  them  had 


76  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

gone  Samuel  Mosely  and  more  than  a  hun- 
dred volunteers  gathered  together  in  Boston 
in,  it  was  said,  less  than  three  hours'  time. 

"  Had  I  been  in  Boston  I  would  have 
joined,  too,"  said  David  regretfully. 

"  This  Mosely  is  he  who  was  wont  to  be  a 
pirate  at  Jamaica,  I  take  it,"  said  Obid.  "  I 
doubt  a  fitter  man  could  be  found  to  deal 
with  the  savages,  master." 

"  Nay,  a  privateer  he  was,  Obid,  with  the 
King's  commission." 

"  I  see  but  little  difference,"  Obid  grum- 
bled. "  Nor  matters  it  so  long  as  he  employs 
a  pirate's  methods  against  the  heathen." 

News  came  slowly,  but  about  the  first  of 
the  month  they  learned  that  Swansea  had 
been  burned  to  the  ground  by  the  Indians 
and  that  the  English  troops  had  made  ren- 
dezvous there  and  had  moved  against  the 
hostiles  who  were  in  force  near  by.  David 
pleaded  with  his  father  to  be  allowed  to  go  to 
Dedham  and  join  a  band  then  being  recruit- 
ed, but  was  denied.  Stories  of  unrest  among 
the  Nipmucks  trickled  in,  and  from  Boston 
came  the  report  that  the  Indians  of  the  sev- 
eral Praying  Villages  were  under  suspicion 
and  that  a  plan  that  had  been  advanced 
to  recruit  them  into  the  English  forces  was 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  POOL    77 

loudly  declaimed  against.  William  Vernham 
came  over  with  the  first  authentic  account 
of  the  Swansea  attack,  which,  it  seemed,  had 
begun  with  the  plundering  of  one  or  two 
houses  by  a  force  of  six  or  eight  of  Philip's 
men  from  Mount  Hope.  Aid  was  summoned 
from  Plymouth  and  an  attack  by  the  In- 
dians in  force  was  prevented  by  the  assem- 
bling of  some  forty  of  the  English  at  the 
Swansea  bridge.  The  Indians  retreated 
again  to  Mount  Hope,  but  subsequently 
preyed  on  the  settlement  in  small  bands, 
killing  eight  persons  and  cutting  off  their 
feet  and  hands  as  well  as  scalping  them. 
They  also  fired  at  least  one  house.  The  in- 
habitants were  forced  to  abandon  the  town, 
removing  themselves  and  their  household 
goods  and  live-stock  to  Rehoboth  and  there 
fortifying  themselves  in  three  dwellings.  The 
Indians  then  burned  Swansea  to  the 
ground. 

"  Both  the  Narragansetts  and  Nipmucks 
have  joined  with  King  Philip,"  added  Mas- 
ter Vernham,  "  though  both  had  promised 
to  take  no  sides  in  the  matter.  'Twill  not  be 
long,  I  doubt,  ere  the  war-cries  ring  in  our 
ears  even  here,  for,  an  I  mistake  not,  Philip 
has  laid  his  plans  well  and  ere  the  summer  be 


78  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

gone  we  shall  see  all  the  tribes  hereabouts 
arrayed  against  us.  I  would  there  were  the 
means  at  hand  to  construct  a  stockade  fort, 
but  'tis  a  task  too  great  for  a  few  hands.  We 
shall  have  to  retire  either  to  Newtowne  or 
Dedham,  Master  Lindall." 

"  I  shall  remove  what  I  may  to  Natick," 
replied  Nathan  Lindall,  "  and  join  the  mili- 
tia so  soon  as  'tis  seen  that  the  Indians  mean 
to  carry  the  war  into  this  country.  There 
be  three  of  us  here,  Master  Vernham,  who 
can  shoot  fairly  straight  and,  though  men  of 
peace,  are  ready  to  avenge  those  so  foully 
murdered  at  Swansea." 

"  Were  it  not  for  Mistress  Vernham  I 
would  bid  you  say  four,"  said  the  other 
gloomily.  "  Nay,  even  so,  an  the  varmints 
come  hither,  I  will  join  you." 

When  the  visitor  had  gone  again,  David 
set  about  the  watering  of  the  garden,  for  the 
rain  still  held  away  and  the  crops  were 
drooping  sadly.  There  were  those  who  con- 
nected the  unnatural  drouth  with  the  eclipse 
of  the  moon  that  had  happened  a  week  or  so 
before  and  who  predicted  all  kinds  of  dire 
things  in  consequence.  The  small  pond  in 
the  marsh  still  held  a  little  muddy  water, 
although  it  was  fast  drying  up,  and  to  reach 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  POOL    79 

it  David  had  built  a  sort  of  pier  of  stones 
over  the  mire.  To-day  he  had  filled  one 
bucket  and  carried  it  to  the  bank  and  was 
filling  the  second  when  a  slight  sound  in  the 
alders  to  the  left  caused  him  to  glance 
swiftly.  That  something  had  moved  there 
he  was  certain,  and  it  seemed  that  his  eyes 
had  glimpsed  it,  and  yet  it  was  gone  before 
he  could  be  sure  of  the  latter.  He  had  an  im- 
pression of  something  brown  or  leather-hued 
between  the  trees  which  might  well  have  been 
an  old  fox.  He  listened  intently  and  searched 
the  thicket  with  his  gaze,  but  no  other  sound 
reached  him,  and  presently  he  lifted  the 
bucket  and  picked  his  way  across  the  stones 
to  the  firm  ground.  There  the  sensation  of 
being  watched  came  to  him  strongly,  so  that 
the  skin  at  the  back  of  his  neck  prickled,  and 
he  wheeled  quickly  and  again  scanned  the 
swamp.  A  bird  fluttering  amongst  the  alders 
caused  his  heart  to  jump  and  he  laughed  at 
himself  and  took  up  his  buckets. 

"  Tis  this  talk  of  Indians,"  he  muttered 
as  he  made  his  way  along  the  path  he  had 
worn  to  the  clearing.  "  I  am  as  fluttery  as  a 
hen!" 

He  was  a  scant  three  paces  from  the  edge 
of  the  thicket  when  the  noise  of  a  snapping 


80  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

twig  brought  him  up  short.  Ten  yards  away 
to  the  right  a  half-naked  Indian  stepped 
toward  him.  As  David  turned,  the  savage's 
hand  went  up  in  friendly  gesture. 

"  Noicantop  ?  "  he  called,  the  Nipmuck 
equivalent  for  "  How  do  you  ?  " 

"  Dock  tau  he?  "  ("  Who  are  you?  ")  re- 
turned David  sternly. 

"  Netop."   ("  A  friend.") 

"  Speak  English,  friend.  What  you 
want?  " 

"  Me  got  um  message  speak  you  David 
man."  The  Indian  made  his  way  toward  Da- 
vid unhurriedly.  He  was  a  tall,  slim  youth  of 
twenty-two  or  -three,  naked  to  the  waist,  un- 
armed save  for  a  hunting-knife  at  his  belt. 
His  scalp-lock  was  confined  in  a  metal  tube 
some  three  inches  in  length  above  which  it 
was  gathered  in  a  black  knot  and  adorned 
with  several  long  feathers  of  yellow  and  red. 
Three  strings  of  black-and-white  wampum 
were  about  his  neck  and  his  girdle  was 
elaborately  worked  with  colored  porcupine 
quills.  That  he  was  not  one  of  the  Natick 
tribe  was  evident,  for  they  no  longer  painted 
their  bodies  whereas  this  youth  showed 
many  smears  of  yellow,  red,  and  brown  on 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  POOL    81 

face  and  chest.  Doubtful,  David  raised  a 
hand. 

"  Wait !  "  he  said.  "  Who  sends  this  mes- 
sage? " 

The  Indian  paused  and  his  gaze,  leaving 
David,  shot  for  an  instant  past  the  boy's 
head.  In  that  instant  David  knew,  and  his 
heart  leaped  into  his  throat.  He  loosed  his 
hands  and  the  buckets  fell  to  the  ground,  but 
ere  he  could  turn,  the  foe  was  upon  him. 
Strong  arms  twined  about  him  and  he  was 
borne  backward  in  a  welter  of  snapping 
branches  and  came  to  earth  with  the  breath 
jarred  from  his  body. 


CHAPTER  VII 
CAPTURED 

THERE  had  been  no  time  to  cry  out,  so 
quickly  had  he  been  overcome,  and  now  the 
opportunity  was  past.  A  twisted  cloth  was 
thrust  into  his  mouth  and  tied  behind  his 
head  ere  he  could  bring  his  astonished  mus- 
cles to  obey  him.  Then,  although  he  heaved 
and  fought,  his  efforts  were  vain.  Three 
snarling,  painted  faces  bent  over  him,  a 
knife  poised  itself  above  his  heart,  and  in 
a  trice  his  arms  were  pinioned  securely. 
Surprise  had  given  place  to  wrath,  and  David 
panted  and  mouthed  and  kicked,  glaring 
back  at  his  captors  madly.  He  was  angry 
with  himself  as  well  as  with  them,  mortified 
to  think  that  he  should  have  so  easily  fallen 
into  their  trap.  Tears  threatened  his  eyes 
and  he  had  difficulty  keeping  them  back. 
When  they  had  him  secure,  leaving,  how- 
ever, his  feet  free,  they  lifted  him  up,  and 
the  one  who  had  greeted  him  from  the 
thicket  spoke. 

'  You  come,  we  no  hurt.   You  no  come, 
we  kill."  He  pressed  the  point  of  his  knife 


CAPTURED  83 

gently  against  David's  throat.  If  he  thought 
to  see  the  lad  flinch,  he  was  mistaken.  Da- 
vid moved  no  muscle.  Only  his  eyes  shot 
venom  into  the  face  of  the  savage.  The  In- 
dian grunted  and  stepped  back.  "  Good," 
he  said.  "  You  come,  no  make  kill."  One 
of  the  others  had  gone  back  into  the  swamp 
and  now  returned  with  a  musket,  two  bows, 
and  two  quivers  of  gray-tipped  arrows.  The 
arrows  settled  for  David  the  identity  of  his 
captors.  They  were,  he  reasoned,  Wachoo- 
sett  Indians,  emissaries  of  the  sachem  Woo- 
sonametipom.  What  they  meant  to  do  with 
him  he  could  not  yet  fathom.  Handing  the 
musket  to  the  English-speaking  Indian,  the 
one  who  had  fetched  it  turned  his  attention 
to  the  buckets  and  the  three  discussed  them 
for  a  moment.  David  made  out  only  an  oc- 
casional word,  for,  while  the  language  they 
used  was  undoubtedly  Nipmuck,  their  gut- 
tural speech  was  different  from  the  clear 
articulation  and  careful  phrasing  of  Monapi- 
kot.  Finally  it  was  decided  to  take  one  of 
the  buckets  and  leave  the  other,  and  the  one 
who  had  proposed  it,  who  seemed  the  oldest 
of  the  three,  secured  it  with  a  rawhide  thong 
to  his  girdle.  As  the  bucket  was  made  of 
oak  with  iron  hoops  and  bail,  it  was  no  light 


84  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

burden.  But  its  gratified  possessor  seemed 
not  to  mind  its  weight  and  even  looked  back 
regretfully  at  its  companion  left  behind. 

It  was  he  who  led  the  way.  David  went 
next,  and  at  the  rear  came  the  Indian  with 
the  musket.  For  more  than  a  mile  they  kept 
to  the  swamp  land  and  woods,  following  first 
the  dried  bed  of  a  runnel  and  later  the  foot 
of  a  long  hill  whose  wooded  summit  stood 
dark  against  the  yellow  of  the  western  sky. 
No  word  was  spoken  and  scarcely  a  twig  was 
snapped  or  a  branch  flicked  by  the  savages. 
Had  David's  plight  been  less  unhappy,  he 
might  have  enjoyed  seeing  with  what  ease 
and  in  what  stealthy  silence  the  leader  made 
his  cautious  way  through  the  underbrush. 
Branches  parted  and  swept  together  again 
without  a  sound,  and  even  the  bucket  swing- 
ing at  his  hip  never  once  caught.  The  pace 
was  not  fast,  but  it  never  faltered,  and  to 
David,  who  had  not  the  use  of  his  arms  to 
aid  him,  it  was  more  rapid  than  he  would 
have  chosen.  Once,  catching  a  foot  in  a  vine, 
he  fell  headlong,  with  much  noise,  unable 
to  save  himself,  and  was  jerked  rudely  to  his 
feet  again  by  the  Indian  behind  him,  who 
growled  at  him  in  Nipmuck  words  he  did  not 
understand,  but  whose  tenor  was  clear 


CAPTURED  85 

enough.  Twilight  settled  and  the  forest  be- 
came full  of  shadows.  By  this  time,  how- 
ever, they  had  left  the  lowlands  and  were 
proceeding  generally  northwestward  through 
open  woods.  David's  captors  did  not  appear 
to  be  apprehensive  of  meeting  any  one,  al- 
though it  was  evident  that  they  wanted  to 
get  their  prey  well  out  of  that  part  of  the 
country  before  pursuit  might  be  started.  So 
far  as  the  boy  knew  there  lay  no  settlement 
for  many  miles  in  the  direction  they  were 
taking,  since  the  little  village  at  Sudbury  lay 
well  to  the  west  and  the  Concord  settlement 
more  to  the  east.  For  that  matter,  he  re- 
flected hopelessly,  they  might  easily  pass 
within  a  stone-throw  of  either  place  in  the 
darkness  without  danger  of  being  seen. 

When  an  hour  or  more  had  passed,  the 
woods  ended  and,  in  the  starlit  darkness,  a 
broad  meadow  stretched  for  miles.  Here  and 
there  lay  the  glimmer  of  water,  and  David 
knew  that  they  had  come  to  the  edge  of  the 
Sudbury  Marshes  through  which  wound  the 
Crooked  River.  A  halt  was  called,  and  Da- 
vid's gag  was  removed  that  he  might  eat  the 
cracked  raw  corn  that  they  fed  him.  At  first 
his  jaws  were  too  stiff  to  move  and  his  lips 
and  tongue  were  numb,  but  presently  he  was 


86  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

able  to  chew  the  food  and  swallow  it.  No  fire 
was  lighted,  and,  when  they  had  rested  for  a 
half-hour,  they  went  on  again.  By  thrusting 
his  jaw  out,  David  succeeded  in  having  the 
gag  replaced  more  loosely,  although  it  still 
effectually  prevented  him  from  making  any 
outcry.  Across  the  meadow  they  went  to  the 
river,  and  there  without  hesitation  they  de- 
scended into  the  water  and,  since  the  stream 
was  low,  forded  without  being  wet  above 
their  middles.  Again  they  found  woodland, 
and  unerringly  the  elder  of  the  three  entered 
it  and  went  on  at  his  unfaltering  pace.  Da- 
vid kept  close  at  his  heels.  The  short  halt 
had  rested  him,  but  walking  with  the  hands 
tied  behind  one  is  difficult,  and  soon  he  be- 
gan to  lag.  That  was  the  signal  for  an  un- 
gentle prod  from  the  Indian  behind  him  and 
David  increased  his  pace  again.  All  sorts  of 
plans  for  escape  came  to  him  only  to  be  dis- 
missed as  impractical.  Had  he  had  the  use 
of  his  hands,  he  might  have  attempted  step- 
ping aside  and  trusting  to  elude  his  captors 
in  the  blackness  of  the  forest,  but  to  try  that 
under  the  conditions  was  useless.  He  would 
have  blundered  into  trees  and  doubtless 
fallen  before  he  had  gone  a  dozen  steps. 
From  the  evenness  of  the  path  they  trod 


CAPTURED  87 

he  judged  that  they  were  on  one  of  the  main 
Indian  trails  leading  from  the  coast  inland. 
These  were  well-trod  paths  over  which  one 
might  easily  ride  on  horseback,  as  the  set- 
tlers had  discovered.  But  they  were  far  from 
level  as  often  leading  over  a  hill  as  around  it, 
and  the  boy's  body  was  presently  sore  and 
his  lungs  hot  and  dry.  He  thought  they  must 
have  covered  a  good  twelve  miles,  and  was 
convinced  that  he  could  go  but  a  little  way 
farther.  The  proddings  at  his  back  came  fre- 
quently now,  and  he  was  bidden  "  quog 
quosh !  "  or  "  more  fast !  "  But  even  threats 
failed  at  last  and  David  stumbled  and  sank 
to  the  ground  and  closed  his  eyes  deliciously. 
Again  they  raised  him,  the  one  in  command 
striking  him  harshly  with  the  butt  of  his 
musket.  David  felt  the  blow,  but  was  dead 
to  the  pain  of  it  and  toppled  again  to  earth 
the  instant  they  released  him. 

"  You  no  sleep !  You  make  hurry  more 
fast.  No  can  lie  down.  You  walk-walk  or 
me  kill!" 

"Matta,"  muttered  David.  "Naut 
seam."  (  "No,  very  tired."  ) 

"  You  want  kill  ?  "  demanded  the  Indian 
angrily.  "  You  want  be  dead,  stay  here  all- 
time?" 


88  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

David  heard,  but  was  too  sleepy  to  an- 
swer. Something  sharp  pierced  his  doublet, 
under  a  shoulder,  and  he  groaned.  Again  he 
was  pulled  to  his  feet  and  again  they  refused 
to  bear  him.  After  that  he  was  only  dimly 
aware  of  what  went  on,  for  his  eyes  would 
not  stay  open  and  sleep  was  ever  just  behind 
them.  He  heard  his  captors  talking,  al- 
though their  voices  seemed  to  come  from  a 
great  distance.  Then  the  voices  dwindled 
and  silence  fell.  David  slept. 

An  hour  later  they  waked  him  and  pulled 
him  to  his  feet.  Still  dazed  with  sleep,  he 
remonstrated  fretfully,  and  would  not  stand 
until  again  that  sharp  sting  of  a  knife-point 
made  him  wince  and  come  back  to  reality. 

The  Indian  who  spoke  English  was  talking 
to  him.  "  You  plenty  sleep,  David  man. 
You  walk-walk.  You  no  walk-walk  we  stick 
um  knife  very  good !  " 

"Aye,  I'll  walk.  I'm  rested  now.  What 
name  you  ?  " 

"  Sequanawah,"  replied  the  Indian  after  a 
moment's  hesitation. 

"  You  Wachoosett  man  ?  " 

"  You  no  talk.  You  make  hurry,"  was  the 
gruff  answer.  "  Quog  quosh." 

On  they  went  through  the  dark  forest,  now 


CAPTURED  89 

and  then  climbing  across  some  bare  hill-top 
where  the  starlight  showed  David  the  form 
of  the  Indian  ahead  and  from  where  he  could 
vaguely  sense  the  wooded  valleys  below  them. 
The  cooler  air  of  early  morning  blew  in  their 
faces  at  such  times,  bringing  a  shiver  even 
as  it  refreshed.  For  some  reason,  probably 
because  there  was  no  longer  any  necessity, 
they  had  not  replaced  the  gag  in  the  boy's 
mouth,  and  he  was  able  to  breathe  freely  and 
even  to  talk,  although  talking  was  quickly 
discouraged.  Just  before  dawn  another  halt 
was  made  and  the  Indians  again  produced 
corn  from  their  pouches  and  gave  David  a 
handful  of  it  to  munch.  Only  once  had  he 
had  water,  and  now  he  was  thirsty  again 
and  said  so. 

Sequanawah  grunted.  "You  come,"  he 
said. 

David  followed  to  where,  some  forty  yards 
away  from  their  resting-place,  the  Indian 
stooped  in  the  half-darkness  and  scraped  at 
the  leaves  under  a  giant  birch.  Then  he 
leaned  his  head  down  to  the  basin  he  had 
formed  and  David  heard  him  drink.  When 
the  boy  had  also  had  his  fill  of  the  cool  but 
brackish  water,  he  followed  the  Indian  back, 
and  on  the  way  he  asked  wonderingiy: 


90  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"How  you  know  water  there,  Sequana- 
wah?" 

"  Me  smell  um,"  was  the  grave  reply. 

As  David  couldn't  see  the  Indian's  face, 
he  was  unable  to  say  whether  the  latter  was 
in  earnest  or  not,  and  the  matter  ever  re- 
mained a  mystery  to  him.  Sitting  again,  Se- 
quanawah  emptied  a  tiny  bit  of  powder  onto 
a  flat  stone,  laid  a  few  wisps  of  birch  bark 
above  it,  and  set  fire  with  the  flint  of  his 
musket.  Then  a  half-ddzen  twigs  were 
placed  on  the  little  blaze  and  the  Indians 
carefully  filled  their  pipes  with  tobacco  and 
lighted  them.  After  that  there  was  no  word 
uttered  until  the  weed  was  smoked. 

Then  Sequanawah  grunted :  "  Hub !  "  and 
the  others  arose. 

"  How  much  more  walk?  "  asked  David. 

Sequanawah  looked  around  at  the  clus- 
tering trees  and  up  at  the  sky  that  now 
showed  gray  above  them.  "  Pausochu,"  he 
answered.  (  "  A  little  way."  ) 

What  was  to  happen  to  him  when  the  jour- 
ney was  ended,  David  did  not  know,  but  he 
was  weary  through  and  through  and  almost 
any  fate  seemed  preferable  to  further  toiling 
up  and  down  hills.  He  no  longer  doubted 
that  his  destination  was  the  village  of  the 


CAPTURED  91 

Wachoosett  Indians  near  the  Lone  Hill, 
which,  he  had  gathered  from  Monapikot,  was 
a  very  tall  mountain  standing  quite  by  itself 
far  from  any  English  settlement.  Whether 
Woosonametipom  meant  to  kill  him  or  put 
him  to  torture  or  merely  hold  him  prisoner, 
time  alone  could  reveal. 

After  another  hour's  progress,  they 
emerged  from  the  forest  in  a  meadow  that 
lay  about  a  fair-sized  pond.  The  dawn  was 
close  at  hand  and  near-by  objects  were 
plainly  discernible.  Sequanawah  pointed  a 
naked  arm,  and  David,  following  with  his 
gaze,  made  out  dimly  in  the  grayness  a  great 
hill  that  loomed  before  them  less  than  a  mile 
distant. 

"  Great  Sachem  Woosonametipom  him 
live,"  said  the  Indian.  "  Quog  quosh !  " 

So  forward  they  went,  skirting  the  pond 
wherein  the  frogs  were  already  talking  to 
each  other  in  deep  voices,  and  came  pres- 
ently to  more  woods.  The  ground  began  to 
rise  and  somewhere  ahead  a  dog  barked. 
Others  answered.  They  were  on  a  well- 
trodden  trail  that  wound  upward  through 
oaks  and  maples  and  tall,  slim  pines.  Sud- 
denly a  clearing  was  before  them,  a  wide 
plateau  near  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  Many 


92  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

wigwams  showed  their  tops  above  a  rude 
palisade  of  logs  and  the  smoke  of  early  fires 
filled  the  air.  The  barking  of  dogs  made  a 
great  din,  and,  as  David's  captors  paused  at 
the  edge  of  the  woods,  a  door  in  the  fort 
opened  and  several  Indians,  men  and  wom- 
en, came  through,  and  with  them  a  dozen 
snarling,  barking  mongrels,  and  Sequanawah 
called  something  above  the  clamor  and  they 
went  forward  again  toward  the  doorway. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
METIPOM    QUESTIONS 

THE  wigwam  was  so  large  that  forty  men 
might  have  sat  within  it,  but  when  David, 
thrust  through  the  opening  by  Sequanawah, 
entered,  it  was  comparatively  empty.  A  man, 
a  woman,  three  young  children,  and  a  few 
dogs  squatted  or  lay  about  the  fire  in  the 
center.  The  man  was  smoking  a  long  pipe, 
the  squaw  was  preparing  breakfast.  The 
smoke  from  the  small  fire  mingled  with  that 
of  the  sachem's  pipe  and  filled  the  dwelling 
with  acrid  fumes  that  made  the  boy's  eyes 
blink  and  smart.  The  dogs  arose,  growling, 
and  crept  forward  to  sniff  at  his  heels,  while 
the  sachem  only  nodded  without  taking  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth  and  the  squaw  looked 
up  stolidly  from  her  task.  Sequanawah  spoke 
and  the  sachem  answered  a  dozen  words. 
Sequanawah  stepped  to  the  doorway  and 
called.  The  call  was  taken  up  without.  Si- 
lence fell  in  the  wigwam  save  for  the  sizzling 
of  the  none  too  dry  fagots  and  the  suspicious 
whining  of  the  dogs,  which,  finding  nothing 


94  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

to  tempt  them  in  the  heavy  leather  of  the 
captive's  shoes,  retreated  to  the  fire.  The 
children,  the  youngest  scarcely  more  than  a 
papoose,  gazed  with  steady,  curious,  dark 
eyes.  Only  the  largest,  who  might  have  been 
six  years  of  age,  boasted  clothing  of  any 
sort,  and  his  costume  was  no  more  than  a 
cloth  about  his  middle.  He  was  already  well 
bronzed  of  skin,  but  the  youngest  child  was 
still  nearly  as  white  as  when  born. 

While  he  stood  there  awaiting  what  Fate 
should  award  him,  David  viewed  the  sachem 
of  the  Wachoosetts  with  interest.  The  chief 
was  an  older  man  than  he  had  thought ;  per- 
haps   well-nigh    sixty;    and    his    hair    was 
streaked  with  gray.  But  he  was  still  straight 
of  back  and  firm  of  body,  and  the  years 
seemed  to  have  dealt  lightly  with  him.   He 
was  a  large  man,  broad  of  shoulder  and  deep 
of  chest,  and  his  muscles  looked  strong  and 
hard.    In  countenance  he  was  well-favored 
for  one  of  his  tribe,  for  the  Nipmucks,  un- 
like some  of  the  more  northerly  tribes,  were 
generally  unprepossessing  of  form  and  fea- 
ture. Woosonametipom  had  a  long  head  and 
sharp  cheek-bones,  the  latter  more  promi- 
nent because  of  the  thinness  of  the  face,  and 
the  lines  and  wrinkles  were  many  and  deep. 


METIPOM  QUESTIONS  95 

The  eyes  were  bright,  however,  and,  although 
the  sachem's  countenance  expressed  harsh- 
ness and  cruelty,  David  found  nothing 
therein  suggesting  meanness.  He  wore  cloth- 
ing befitting  his  rank:  a  cloak  of  panther- 
skin  that  shone  lustrously  in  the  light  that 
came  down  through  the  smoke-hole,  leggings 
of  soft  deer-hide  much  ornamented  with 
quills  and  beads,  several  strings  and  anklets 
of  wampum.  His  head  was  shaven  to  the 
scalp-lock,  and  that  was  bound  with  bits  of 
red  cloth  until  it  stood  upright  a  good  eight 
inches,  and  was  lavishly  strung  with  bright 
feathers.  Several  rings  encircled  the  fingers 
of  the  left  hand,  and  on  his  naked  chest 
where  the  panther-skin  fell  away  a  great 
round  disk  of  silver  rudely  chased  with  some 
design  rose  with  each  slow  inhalation  of 
smoke  and  fell  again  as  the  evil-smelling 
fumes  poured  forth  from  mouth  or  nose. 
After  a  first  gravely  appraising  look,  the  sa- 
chem had  not  again  observed  David.  His 
eyes  remained  on  the  kettle,  now  noisily  bub- 
bling, quite  as  though  life  held  nothing  more 
in  prospect  than  the  morning  meal. 

The  sachem's  squaw  was  a  quite  young 
woman,  but  to  David's  mind  horribly  fat  and 
ugly,  with  crossed-eyes  and  a  flattish  nose. 


96  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

She  was  dressed  with  no  pretension  to  rank 
and  wore  few  ornaments.  Although  as  wife 
of  the  sagamore  she  held  the  position  of 
queen,  she  was  in  effect  little  more  than  a 
household  drudge.  Presently,  squatting  be- 
side the  fire,  she  thrust  a  wooden  spoon  into 
the  pot,  withdrew  it,  and  held  it  to  her  lips. 
Then  she  passed  it  to  the  sachem.  He,  too, 
tasted,  but  shook  his  head  silently.  Children 
and  dogs  watched  the  performance  with  in- 
tentness.  When  another  minute  had  passed, 
the  entrance  was  darkened  and  a  small,  wiry 
Indian,  naked  save  for  breech-cloth  and  a 
multitude  of  ornaments  that  depended  from 
neck  and  arms,  knees  and  ankles,  entered 
followed  by  three  others.  The  sachem 
grunted  a  word  or  two  and  David  was  thrust 
forward  until  he  stood  but  a  yard  or  two 
from  him.  The  newcomer,  evidently  a  pow- 
wow, or  medicine  man,  stood  at  his  right  and 
Sequanawah  at  his  other  side.  Again  the  sa- 
chem spoke  and  the  powwow  translated  in 
excellent  English. 

"  Great  Sachem  asks  what  name,  brother." 

"  David  Lindall." 

"  How  come  here  ?  " 

David  stared  from  sachem  to  interpreter. 
"You  ought  to  know  that,"  he  answered 


METIPOM  QUESTIONS  97 

bitterly.  "  This  Indian  caught  and  bound  me 
and  brought  me  here." 

The  sachem  thereupon  directed  his  words 
to  Sequanawah,  and  the  latter  made  an  ex- 
planation, a  word  or  two  of  which  David  was 
able  to  understand. 

Presently  the  powwow  said  blandly:  "  Se- 
quanawah say  you  come  to  village  where  he 
watch  and  ask  food.  He  bring  you  to  Great 
Sachem.  Why  you  lie?  " 

"  I  tell  no  lie,"1  answered  David  won- 
deringly.  "  I  not  understand.  He  capture  me 
yesterday  near  my  home,  many  leagues 
away.  He  had  two  others  with  him.  They 
put  cloth  between  my  teeth  so  that  I  could 
not  cry  out  and  bound  my  hands  behind  my 
back.  All  night  we  travel.  What  story  is  this 
he  tells?" 

"  Great  Sachem  say  hold  out  hands." 

David  obeyed. 

"  They  not  bound,"  said  the  powwow. 

"  He  released  them  ere  I  entered  here." 

"  Great  Sachem  say  he  not  believe  your 
story.  Great  Sachem  good  friend  of  English. 
All  his  people  friends  of  English  people.  No 
would  steal  you.  Great  Sachem  say  maybe 
you  sick  in  head.  You  think  ?  " 

David  looked  in  puzzlement  at  the  sachem 


98  METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

and  their  eyes  met.  The  chief's  face  was  all 
innocence  and  candor,  but  at  the  back  of 
the  dark  eyes,  like  sparks  in  a  dead  fire,  were 
glints  of  guile,  and  David  understood. 

"  I  know  only  what  I  have  told,"  he  an- 
swered the  powwow.  "  If  I  have  dreamed,  so 
be  it.  Give  me  food,  for  I  am  faint,  and  I 
will  return  to  my  home." 

"  Great  Sachem  say  yes.  Say  all  English 
men  his  brothers.  Say  when  they  not  deal 
honestly  with  him,  they  still  his  brothers. 
Maybe  you  know  English  take  his  son 
Nausauwah  and  put  him  in  prison." 

David  nodded.  "  He  was  suspected  of  set- 
ting fire  to  an  Englishman's  barn.  He  is  to 
be  fairly  tried  by  the  court  in  Boston." 

"  Great  Sachem  say  Englishman's  law  not 
Indian's  law.  Say  how  can  he  know  Nausau- 
wah get  justice." 

"Tell  him  that  the  English  always  deal 
justly,"  replied  David  stoutly.  "Ask  him 
when  they  have  done  otherwise." 

"Great  Sachem  say  English  take  much 
lands  from  Indian  and  build  fences  about 
and  Indians  no  can  go  in  for  hunt." 

'The  English  always  pay  for  the  lands. 
When  they  are  planted,  they  are  no  longer 
for  hunting." 


METIPOM  QUESTIONS  99 

"  Great  Sachem  say  maybe  English  kill 
Nausauwah.  Maybe  make  him  slave  far 
across  sea.  Great  Sachem  love  his  son  and 
no  want  it  so.  Maybe  your  father  have  same 
love  to  you.  Not  want  you  hurt  or  killed. 
You  think?  " 

"  Aye,"   answered  the  boy  steadily. 

"  Great  Sachem  think  so  too.  Maybe  Eng- 
lish send  his  son  back  to  him  pretty  soon. 
You  think?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  if  he  is  not  guilty, 
he  will  go  free.  But  first  he  will  be  tried." 

"  When  you  think  he  be  tried  ?  " 

"  Soon.  Ere  this,  doubtless,  had  not  the 
trouble  in  the  Plymouth  Colony  disturbed 
those  in  Boston." 

"  Great  Sachem  say  what  trouble  at  Ply- 
mouth." 

"  King  Philip,  as  we  call  him,  has  taken 
wicked  counsel  and  has  killed  many  of  the 
English  and  burned  their  homes."  If  David 
expected  evidences  of  surprise,  he  was  dis- 
appointed. The  sachem  received  the  news 
placidly,  as  did  the  others,  and  David  con- 
cluded that  they  had  already  known  it. 
"  The  English  have  sent  many  soldiers  to 
punish  King  Philip,"  he  added  sternly, 
"  and  he  will  be  very  sorrowful  indeed." 


ioo          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  Great  Sachem  say  Pometacom  very 
wicked,"  announced  the  powwow  smoothly. 
"  Say  he  must  get  plenty  punishment  like 
bad  child.  Say  Wachoosett  people  very  angry 
with  Pometacom." 

"  Aye.  Say  to  the  Great  Sachem  that  all 
Indians  except  Philip's  tribe  have  declared 
friendship  for  the  English  and  that  many 
will  fight  for  them  if  need  be." 

"  Great  Sachem  say  he  glad  to  know.  Say 
Wachoosett  Indians  very  peaceful.  No  make 
war  with  English.  No  make  war  with  Pomet- 
acom. Wachoosett  people  everybody's  bro- 
ther. No  make  meddle  any  time." 

"  That  is  well,"  said  David.  "  And  now, 
brother,  give  me  food  and  I  will  go  back  by 
the  trail  I  came." 

"  Great  Sachem  say  you  rest  first.  No 
hurry  you  go  away.  He  say  you  have  plenty 
food,  plenty  sleep.  He  say  you  his  brother, 
his  heart  warm  to  you.  He  say  you  stay  here 
little  time  and  make  talk  with  him.  Then  he 
give  you  Indians  show  you  trail  and  keep  you 
safe  from  Pometacom." 

"  When  will  that  be?  "  asked  David,  his 
heart  sinking. 

"Little  time.  Great  Sachem  give  you 
lodge,  give  you  food,  give  you  all  to  make 


METIPOM  QUESTIONS          101 

happy.  Give  you  plenty  servant.  You  like 
maybe  so?  " 

"  Tell  the  great  Sachem  that  I  thank  him 
for  his  kindness,  but  that  I  must  return  to 
my  home,  for  my  father  does  not  know  where 
I  am  and  will  be  sorrowful." 

"  Great  Sachem  say  his  heart  weep  for 
your  father.  Say  he  send  message  to  him  so 
he  not  trouble  for  you.  Say  you  stay  here 
and  be  brother  for  little  time  he  much  like." 

"  Talk  plainly!  "  cried  David,  patience  at 
an  end.  "  You  mean  to  keep  me  prisoner. 
So  be  it!  But  say  to  your  sachem  that 
whether  I  go  or  stay  will  make  no  difference 
to  his  son,  for  he  will  be  held  until  tried  and 
if  guilty  will  be  punished.  And  say  to  him 
that  my  people  will  seek  me,  and  will  know 
where  to  seek,  as  well,  and  when  I  am  found 
it  will  go  hard  with  him,  indeed !  " 

"  Great  Sachem  say  you  talk  without 
thought,"  answered  the  powwow  gently. 
"  You  his  brother.  He  no  make  prisoner  his 
brother.  English  may  so,  but  he  not.  You 
have  long  journey.  Forest  hide  many  ene- 
mies. You  stay  here  and  have  plenty  rest. 
Then  you  go  home  all  safe.  Great  Sachem 
very  kind  heart  for  English  brother." 

"  I  am  in  your  hands,"  replied  David  bit- 


102         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

terly.  "  I  have  no  choice,  'twould  seem,  but 
accept  your  hospitality,  O  Maker  of  Magic. 
So  I  pray  you  bring  me  to  a  place  where  I 
may  rest." 

Sequanawah  laid  a  hand  on  his  sleeve. 
"  You  come,"  he  said. 

As  David  turned  away,  he  caught  again 
the  mocking  gleam  that  lay  at  the  back  of 
the  sachem's  placid  gaze. 

The  village  was  fully  awake  now,  and  men 
old  and  young  sat  by  the  doors  of  the  wig- 
wams or  moved  among  them,  and  women 
were  at  their  tasks  in  the  first  rays  of  sun- 
light that  came  around  the  green-clad  shoul- 
der of  the  mountain.  Dogs  snarled  and 
fought  underfoot  over  the  bones  thrown  to 
them  from  the  dwellings.  Young  boys  ran 
and  shouted  or  sat  in  circles  at  their  games. 
David's  passing  elicited  only  the  faintest  in- 
terest amongst  the  older  Indians,  but  the 
young  boys  and  children,  most  of  whom  had 
doubtless  never  before  set  eyes  on  a  white- 
face,  regarded  him  with  unconcealed  curi- 
osity. Many  left  their  play  and  followed  to 
the  far  side  of  the  stockade  where  a  wigwam 
stood  slightly  removed  from  the  rest.  Into 
this  Sequanawah  conducted  the  prisoner. 
A  very  old  woman  crouched  above  a  fire  on 


METIPOM  QUESTIONS          103 

which  some  fish  cooked  in  a  stone  basin. 
She  glanced  up  briefly  and  then  dropped  her 
watery  eyes  again  to  her  task. 

"  You  live  here,"  said  Sequanawah.  "  Nice 
place.  Old  woman  she  make  food.  Young 
Indian  soon  come  be  servant.  You  want, 
you  say."  He  dropped  his  voice.  "  Inside 
wall  you  all  right.  Outside  no  can  go. 
Great  Sachem  say,  *  Catch  um  outside,  kill 
um  quick.'  Farewell." 

"  Farewell,"  replied  David. 

When  the  Indian  had  gone,  he  threw  him- 
self wearily  on  the  rough  hide  that  formed 
the  nearest  approach  to  a  bed  that  his  new 
dwelling  afforded  and  moodily  watched  the 
ancient  crone  scatter  the  fire  and  then  place 
the  smoking  basin  of  fish  at  his  side.  He 
nodded  his  thanks,  and  then,  as  the  squaw 
seemed  not  inclined  to  leave  him,  but  would 
have  settled  herself  across  the  wigwam,  he 
made  signs  toward  the  entrance,  and,  since 
she  was  either  too  weak  of  sight  or  stupid 
of  mind  to  comprehend,  he  said,  "  Maun- 
cheak,  mauncheak !  "  which  signifies  "  Go 
away."  That  she  heard  and  understood,  and 
pulled  her  old  body  from  the  ground  with  a 
groan  and  toddled  out.  He  ate  a  little  of  the 
fish,  which  was  none  so  bad  save  that  it 


104         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

lacked  the  seasoning  he  was  used  to  —  for 
the  Indians  used  no  salt  in  their  cooking  — 
and  then  lay  back  and,  with  his  hands  be- 
neath his  head,  stared  upward  at  the  sun- 
patterned  roof  of  this  strange  house  and  gave 
himself  over  to  thought.  From  without  came 
the  low  hum  of  voices,  the  snarling  and  bark- 
ing of  dogs,  the  thud  of  a  stone  axe  on  tim- 
ber, and  at  times  the  shrill  shouting  of  the 
boys  at  play.  The  sounds  were  all  foreign 
and  unaccustomed  and  David's  heart  sank 
as  a  fuller  realization  of  his  predicament 
came  to  him. 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  VILLAGE  OF  THE  WACHOOSETTS 

IT  was  clear  to  him  that,  so  long  as  the  sa- 
chem's son  was  neither  harmed  nor  deported 
into  slavery,  his  own  safety  was  assured,  but 
if  the  court  in  Boston  presently  put  Nausau- 
wah  to  trial  and  ordered  him  executed,  which 
was  not  beyond  the  possibilities,  or  sent  to 
the  Indies,  his  life  would  not  be  worth  a 
grain  of  corn.  Therefore,  thought  the  boy,  it 
behooved  him  somehow  to  manage  an  escape 
before  Nausauwah's  fate  was  decided.  For- 
tunately, he  believed,  the  troubles  with  King 
Philip  might  well  delay  the  sitting  of  the 
court  beyond  its  usual  time. 

Woosonametipom  had  made  him  hostage 
to  ensure  the  safety  of  his  son,  but,  lest  he 
bring  the  English  about  his  ears,  was  pre- 
pared to  deny  the  fact:  for  which  purpose 
he  had  invented  the  story  that  David  had 
wandered  to  the  Indian  village  and  asked  for 
food  and  shelter.  Should  David's  friends 
come  there  seeking  him,  which  they  would 
do  of  a  surety,  Metipom  would  either  hide 
him  and  deny  all  knowledge  of  him  or  turn 


io6         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

him  over  to  the  rescuers  with  the  assertion 
that  he  had  sought  the  Wachoosetts'  hospi- 
tality and  had  been  cared  for  by  them  as  a 
guest.  Possibly  they  would  say  that  he  was 
ill  or  out  of  his  mind  and  that  they  had 
healed  him.  It  was  not  a  likely  story,  nor 
would  it  be  believed  in  the  face  of  the  boy's 
denials,  but  it  might  serve  its  purpose  of 
calming  the  Englishmen's  wrath.  Moreover, 
without  a  doubt  every  inhabitant  of  the  vil- 
lage would  gravely  testify  to  the  truth  of  it. 
As  David  knew,  the  Indians  were  poor  liars, 
trusting  far  less  to  plausibility  than  to  dogged 
persistence.  The  story  might  well  answer 
Metipom's  purpose  and  "save  his  face." 

But  David  did  not  believe  that  the  sachem 
would  give  him  up  on  demand,  for  in  such 
case  he  would  have  gained  nothing  and 
would  have  antagonized  the  English.  It  was 
far  more  likely  that  he  would  deny  any 
knowledge  of  him  and  yet  subtly  contrive  to 
let  the  seekers  understand  that,  when  Nau- 
sauwah  was  returned  safely  to  his  tribe,  Da- 
vid Lindall  would  reappear.  No  matter  how 
strong  their  suspicions  might  be,  David's 
friends  would  hesitate  to  wreak  vengeance 
without  some  proof.  Doubtless  Metipom 
would  invite  them  to  search  the  village  and 


VILLAGE  OF  WACHOOSETTS    107 

question  his  men,  which,  with  David  well 
hidden  in  the  forest  and  the  inhabitants  told 
what  answers  to  give,  would  lead  to  nothing. 
Thus  he  reasoned,  knowing  much  of  Indian 
ways  and  character  both  from  personal  ex- 
perience and  hearsay,  and  reasoned  well  as 
events  proved. 

In  the  end  it  appeared  clear  to  him  that 
if  he  was  to  escape  from  his  captors,  it  must 
be  by  efforts  of  his  own;  that  help  from 
outside  was  not  to  be  depended  on.  It  might 
be  that  the  authorities  in  Boston  would  de- 
cide to  release  Nausauwah  in  exchange  for 
David.  Doubtless  Master  Vernham,  who 
was  not  without  influence  in  the  town,  would 
use  his  good  offices.  And  there  was  Uncle 
William,  as  well:  and  perhaps  others.  And 
yet  David  knew  how  firm  those  Puritans 
stood  for  Law  and  Justice,  and  it  might  well 
be  that  their  consciences  would  sternly  re- 
fuse such  a  compromise.  Such  a  solution  of 
his  difficulties  was,  he  concluded,  more  than 
uncertain. 

Remained,  therefore,  first  of  all,  to  study 
well  his  prison  and  acquaint  himself  with 
the  manner  in  which  it  was  guarded,  for 
which  purpose  it  would  be  well  to  seem  rec- 
onciled to  his  fate,  maintaining  a  cheerful 


io8         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

countenance  and  making  friends  as  he  might. 
By  such  means  he  might  allay  suspicion  and 
gain  added  liberty.  And  having  reached  this 
sensible  decision,  David  closed  his  eyes  and 
went  to  sleep. 

When  he  awoke  the  sun  was  past  the 
meridian  and  the  shadows  had  begun  to 
lengthen.  The  wigwam  was  hot  and  breath- 
less and  he  was  parched  with  thirst.  At  the 
entrance  he  almost  stepped  on  a  young  In- 
dian half  asleep  there,  his  naked  body,  heav- 
ily smeared  with  oil,  glistening  in  the  hot 
sunlight.  He  was  a  comely,  well-propor- 
tioned youth,  in  age  perhaps  twenty,  with  a 
rather  livelier  expression  than  common  to 
his  people. 

He  grunted  as  David's  foot  encountered 
him  and  looked  up  inquiringly.  "  What  um 
want?  "  he  asked. 

''  Water,"  David  answered.  The  Indian 
seemed  not  to  know  the  word  and  so  David 
said,  "  Nippe,"  although  not  certain  that  it 
would  be  more  successful,  since  the  Nipmuck 
equivalent  of  "water"  varied  in  different 
localities,  as  did  many  other  words.  But  the 
youth  understood  and  sprang  to  his  moc- 
casined  feet. 

"You  come,"  he  said,  and  led  the  way 


VILLAGE  OF  WACHOOSETTS    109 

past  many  wigwams  to  where  a  spring  is- 
sued forth  from  beneath  a  granite  ledge.  A 
rude  box  of  small  logs,  barked  and  chinked 
with  clay,  had  been  laid  about  the  mouth  of 
the  spring  so  that  the  water  was  held  ere  it 
trickled  away  in  a  little  runnel  across  the 
gently  sloping  ground.  As  there  was  no  ves- 
sel to  drink  from,  David  knelt  and  dipped 
his  mouth  to  the  pool  and  drank  deeply, 
though  the  water  was  lukewarm  from  stand- 
ing in  the  sun.  When  he  had  finished,  feeling 
vastly  refreshed,  the  Indian  took  his  place. 
But  instead  of  following  David's  method,  he 
scooped  the  water  up  in  his  right  hand  and 
bore  it  to  his  lips,  and  did  it  so  quickly  and 
deftly  that  scarcely  a  drop  was  wasted. 
Whereupon  David  attempted  the  same  trick 
and  failed,  the  water  running  down  over 
his  wrist  ere  he  could  get  his  mouth  to  his 
palm.  There  was  a  grunt  from  the  Indian 
and  David  saw  that  the  latter  was  greatly 
amused. 

"  You  show  how,"   laughed  David. 

The  Indian  youth  smiled  broadly  and 
obeyed,  and  after  several  attempts  David  at 
length  succeeded  in  Mastering  the  trick  fairly 
well,  and  his  instructor  applauded  with  many 
nods  and  said,  "  Good !  Good !  " 


i  io         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

David  moved  away  and,  observing  that  the 
Indian  did  not  accompany  him,  said,  "  You 
come."  The  young  brave  bowed  and  fell  in 
behind.  "What  name  you?  "  David  asked. 

"John." 

"John?  Have  you  no  Indian  name?  " 
The  other  seemed  not  to  understand  the 
question,  and  later  David  found  that  his 
attendant's  knowledge  of  English  was  very 
limited.  "  You  got  more  name  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Me  John,"  repeated  the  Indian. 

"John  — what?" 

The  other  shook  his  head  and  David  gave 
up. 

The  village  was  quiet,  even  the  dogs  being 
for  the  most  part  fast  asleep  in  the  shade  of 
the  wigwams.  Here  and  there  a  squaw  or  a 
maiden  sat  at  the  entrance  of  a  lodge  pre- 
paring food  or  working  with  cloth  or  buck- 
skin. Few  men  were  in  sight,  for  the  In- 
dians chose  to  sleep  in  the  heat  of  the  day, 
or,  failing  sleep,  to  lie  still  within  the  wig- 
wams and  smoke  their  pipes.  As  he  made  a 
circuit  of  the  village,  David  observed  well. 
He  judged  that  the  ground  within  the  pali- 
sade might  well  be  an  acre  and  a  half  in 
extent.  It  did  not  form  any  approach  to  a 
true  circle,  but  adjusted  itself  to  the  shape 


VILLAGE  OF  WACHOOSETTS    1 1 1 

of  the  sloping  plateau.  Before  it,  as  David 
recalled,  lay  a  hillside  of  grass  and  thicket 
and  then  the  forest.  Back  of  it,  as  he  could 
see,  the  side  of  the  mountain  sloped  more 
steeply,  strewn  with  ledges  and  rocks,  but 
the  forest  did  not  begin  again  for  some  dis- 
tance, perhaps  an  eighth  of  a  mile.  It  seemed 
to  him  that,  while  the  fort  might  be  well 
enough  disposed  against  attack  by  savages, 
an  enemy  armed  with  muskets  could  do  no 
little  damage  from  the  edge  of  the  forest 
above,  although  the  distance  was  too  great 
to  permit  of  accurate  shooting.  The  palisade 
was  high  and  strong,  the  top  of  each  log  be- 
ing sharply  pointed.  A  few  peep-holes,  no 
larger  than  one  might  speed  an  arrow  or 
thrust  a  spear  through,  had  been  left  at  cer- 
tain places  in  the  English  fashion.  Two  plat- 
forms of  saplings  lashed  together  with  strips 
of  hide  or  twisted  roots  offered  posts  of  ob- 
servation above  the  wall.  The  gate  or  door 
was  narrow  and  was  closed  by  a  roughly- 
hewn  barricade  of  oak  planks  so  heavy  that 
David  doubted  the  ability  of  fewer  than  three 
men  to  move  it  into  place. 

The  sachem's  wigwam  stood  by  itself  near 
the  center  of  the  enclosure  and  was  larger 
than  any  other  and  more  elaborately  adorned 


ii2          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

with  pictures  and  hieroglyphics  in  red  and 
brown  and  black  pigments.  Before  the  door 
two  poles  were  set  in  the  ground  from  each 
of  which  depended  objects  that  aroused  the 
boy's  curiosity.  Nearing  them,  he  saw  that 
the  right-hand  pole  held  a  dead  owl  sus- 
pended by  a  cord  from  one  foot  and  that  the 
other  was  decorated  with  a  bunch  of  rushes 
tied  about  with  a  strip  of  blue  cotton  cloth 
through  which  was  thrust  a  long  white 
feather. 

He  turned  to  John  and  pointed.  "  What 
for  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Medicine,"  was  the  reply. 

What  virtue  lay  in  either  a  dead  owl  or 
a  bunch  of  marsh  rushes,  David  was  at  a 
loss  to  know,  but  Indian  "  medicine "  as 
interpreted  by  the  powwows  was  a  thing  be- 
yond understanding. 

There  seemed  to  be  about  fifty  wigwams 
within  the  fort,  and  later  David  estimated 
the  inhabitants  to  be  approximately  two 
hundred  in  number,  of  which  fully  half 
were  women  and  children  below  the  fighting 
age.  As  Indian  villages  went,  this  one  of  the 
Wachoosetts'  was  well-ordered  and  fairly 
clean.  There  was  apparently  no  system  in 
the  disposition  of  the  lodges,  every  one 


VILLAGE  OF  WACHOOSETTS    113 

building  where  it  pleased  him.  So  far  as 
guarding  against  attack  went,  David  could 
not  see  that  any  precaution  was  being  taken. 
But  in  this  he  was  wrong,  as  he  afterwards 
discovered. 

It  took  but  a  short  time  to  make  a  circuit 
of  the  village  during  which  he  saw  few  in- 
habitants and  occasioned  no  apparent  inter- 
est in  any.  Returning  to  his  own  abode  for 
want  of  a  better  place,  he  found  a  shaded 
space  on  one  side  and  seated  himself,  motion- 
ing John  to  do  likewise.  During  his  trip  of 
inspection  he  had  held  little  conversation 
with  the  Indian,  for  it  is  difficult  to  talk  com- 
fortably with  a  companion  who  insists  on 
walking  squarely  behind  you,  and  all  Da- 
vid's scheming  had  failed  to  induce  John  to 
walk  elsewhere  than  behind.  Now,  however, 
David  began  the  self-imposed  task  of  im- 
proving himself  in  the  Nipmuck  language. 

Pointing  to  his  hand,  he  asked :  '"  What 
name?  " 

"  Nitchicke,"  replied  John. 

Then  David  pointed  to  his  arm. 

"Napet."  The  Indian  understood  the 
game  now  and  became  interested,  and  pres- 
ently he  was  in  turn  asking,  "  What  name  ?  " 

His  efforts  to  pronounce  the  English  words 


ii4         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

were  doubtless  no  more  amusing  than  Da- 
vid's attempts  at  the  Indian,  but  David 
thought  them  so!  John  took  no  offense  at 
the  other's  laughter,  but  sometimes  smiled 
widely  himself  when  his  tongue  refused  to 
conform  to  the  demands  of  an  L  or  an  R. 
David  did  not  continue  too  long  at  the  les- 
son, preferring  to  memorize  a  few  words 
thoroughly  rather  than  to  half-learn  a  great 
many.  But  the  sun  had  lengthened  its 
shadows  much  and  the  intense  heat  of  the 
early  afternoon  was  gone  by  the  time  he  dis- 
missed his  school.  John  disappeared  amidst 
the  wigwams  across  the  enclosure,  and  Da- 
vid, setting  in  mental  array  the  few  facts  he 
had  gleaned  from  his  journey  of  the  fort,  set 
his  mind  to  fashioning  a  means  of  escape. 
But  he  did  not  look  for  success  at  the  first 
attempt,  nor  did  he  win  it.  The  problem  was 
not  one  to  be  lightly  solved,  if  at  all,  and  in 
any  event  he  must  first  determine  how  closely 
he  was  guarded  at  night. 

The  village  became  awake  again  as  the 
afternoon  drew  to  its  end.  Hunters  departed 
through  the  gate,  women  and  children  went 
to  seek  berries  and  fruits,  dogs  aroused 
themselves  and  prowled  for  food,  large  boys 
squatted  in  circles  and  played  their  strange 


VILLAGE  OF  WACHOOSETTS    115 

games,  younger  ones  romped  boisterously, 
dodging  in  and  out  from  the  lodges  with 
mocking  cries.  Sometimes  a  papoose  whim- 
pered hungrily,  but  for  the  most  part  the 
little  creamy-skinned,  big-eyed  babies  were 
as  silent  as  though  Nature  had  denied  them 
tongues.  Smoke  began  to  appear  above  the 
tops  of  the  wigwams,  ascending  straight  in 
air  like  blue  pencils  of  vapor.  More  often, 
though,  the  evening  fires  were  built  in  front 
of  the  wigwam  doors.  Women,  young  and 
old,  busied  themselves  with  the  stone  or 
metal  pots  in  which  nearly  everything  was 
cooked.  jAt  the  nearer  wigwam  an  older 
squaw  was  cutting  a  piece  of  blood-dripping 
flesh  into  thin  strips,  chanting  a  song  softly 
as  she  worked.  Her  fire  was  no  more  than  a 
few  small  fagots  enclosed  between  two  flat 
stones  that  supported  the  iron  kettle.  The 
strips  of  meat  were  dropped  into  the  kettle 
as  cut  and  to  David  they  looked  far  from 
appetizing.  He  presumed  that  there  was  wa- 
ter in  the  pot,  and  after  a  while,  as  he 
watched  idly,  a  faint  steam  arose  from  it 
and  proved  him  right.  The  squaw  went  into 
the  wigwam  and  presently  returned  holding 
something  that  looked  like  gray  meal  in  her 
cupped  hands.  This  she  dropped  slowly  into 


n6         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

the  kettle,  afterwards  stirring  it  with  her 
wooden  spoon.  That  done,  she  brought  forth 
two  stones,  one  flat  with  a  hollowed  space  in 
one  surface  and  the  other  somewhat  pear- 
shaped  and  smaller.  Into  the  hollow  of  the 
larger  stone  she  dropped  a  few  kernels  of 
corn,  taken  from  a  leather  pouch,  and  began 
to  crush  them,  holding  the  pear-shaped  stone 
by  its  smaller  end  and  dropping  it  on  the 
grain  with  a  circular  movement  of  her  thin 
brown  wrist.  When  the  corn  was  broken 
to  her  liking,  she  scooped  it  forth  onto  a 
piece  of  birch  bark  and  dipped  again  into 
the  pouch. 

While  she  was  so  occupied,  a  rather  stout 
Indian  emerged  from  the  wigwam,  stretching 
and  yawning,  and,  after  blinking  a  moment 
at  the  sun,  seated  himself  with  his  back  to 
a  lodge-pole  and  leisurely  filled  the  small 
bowl  of  his  long  blue-clay  pipe.  When  it 
was  ready  he  spoke  to  the  woman  and  she, 
leaving  her  rude  mortar  and  pestle,  picked 
a  hot  coal  from  the  fire  with  her  bare  fingers 
and  gave  it  to  him.  Unconcernedly  he  took 
it  from  her,  though  it  glowed  so  brightly 
that  David  could  see  it  in  the  sunlight,  and 
held  it  to  the  pipe-bowl.  Then,  emitting 
streamers  of  smoke  from  his  nostrils,  he 


VILLAGE  OF  WACHOOSETTS    117 

tossed  the  ember  aside  and  settled  himself 
contentedly.  He  smoked  in  the  manner  of 
his  people,  taking  but  one  inhalation  at  a 
time  and  expelling  it  slowly,  meanwhile 
holding  the  pipe  away  as  though  it  had  no 
more  interest  for  him.  Often  a  full  minute 
elapsed  between  puffs,  and  David  wondered 
that  the  pipe  did  not  go  out.  The  smoker  was 
elderly  and  David  guessed  that  he  was  lazy 
as  well. 

The  ancient  crone  who  had  prepared  Da- 
vid's breakfast  for  him  now  came  waddling 
to  the  wigwam  bearing  a  birchen  tray 
whereon  lay  a  piece  of  meat  and  some  dried 
beans.  The  meat  looked  to  be  three  or  four 
ribs  of  some  small  animal,  and  David,  know- 
ing that  the  Indians  were  more  partial  than 
averse  to  dogs  as  food,  shuddered  and  re- 
solved to  touch  none  of  the  meat  until  he 
had  learned  its  kind.  The  old  woman  stopped 
where  he  sat  and  lowered  the  tray  for  his 
inspection,  muttering  a  word  or  two  of  gib- 
berish in  a  husky,  whining  voice.  David 
looked,  inwardly  revolted,  and  nodded. 
There  was,  he  knew,  no  use  in  asking  her 
what  sort  of  flesh  it  was,  since  she  knew  no 
word  of  English  and  his  own  knowledge  of 
Nipmuck  was  not  yet  equal  to  comprehend- 


n8          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

ing  what  she  might  reply.  Perhaps,  too,  he 
feared  that  reply  might  be  "  Awnam,"  which 
he  believed  to  signify  "  dog."  She  disap- 
peared inside  with  her  treasures,  and  pres- 
ently he  heard  the  faint  crackling  of  the 
wood  as  the  flames  took  hold.  How  she  had 
started  the  fire  he  could  not  imagine,  for 
there  had  seemed  to  be  only  lifeless  embers 
there  before  her  coming,  and  she  had  surely 
not  brought  fire  with  her. 

Meanwhile  his  neighbors  were  partaking  of 
their  meal.  The  stout  Indian  held  a  pointed 
stick  in  his  hand  and  with  it  speared  the 
strips  of  half-cooked  meat  from  the  kettle 
which  the  squaw  had  placed  before  him 
where  he  sat.  From  the  kettle  the  meat  went 
straight  to  his  mouth,  dripping  upon  him, 
whereupon,  having  laid  aside  his  pipe,  he 
used  his  hands  to  tear  it  apart  or  thrust 
it  in.  A  few  feet  away  the  squaw  sat  on  her 
heels,  silently  watchful.  Occasionally,  and 
only  occasionally,  the  man,  having  drawn 
forth  a  strip  of  meat  whose  looks  he  did  not 
favor,  held  it  forth  to  the  woman  and  she 
seized  it  from  the  end  of  the  stick  and  trans- 
ferred it  quickly  and  hungrily  to  her  mouth. 
Once  the  morsel  dropped  from  the  point  of 
the  stick  to  the  earth,  but  she  showed  no 


VILLAGE  OF  WACHOOSETTS    119 

hesitation,  rescuing  it  and  not  tarrying  to 
see  that  it  was  clean  ere  she  ate  it.  Between 
mouthfuls  of  meat  they  partook  of  the 
cracked  corn.  David,  although  no  stranger 
to  Indian  manners,  turned  his  eyes  away  in 
distaste. 

About  the  village  many  other  families 
were  eating  or  preparing  to  eat,  although  as 
many  more  had  evidently  no  thought  for 
food.  At  the  Natick  village  the  Praying  In- 
dians had  for  some  years  conformed  roughly 
to  the  English  fashion  of  eating  meals  at 
regular  and  prescribed  intervals,  but  the  na- 
tive custom  of  eating  when  hungry  still  held 
here.  For  that  reason,  so  long  as  he  re- 
mained, David  could  always,  no  matter  at 
what  time  of  day  or  early  evening,  find  some 
one  preparing  food  or  consuming  it.  The 
Nipmucks  were  not  great  flesh-eaters,  espe- 
cially in  the  summer,  he  found,  preferring 
vegetables  and  grains  and  fruits  with  an  oc- 
casional meal  of  fish.  As  time  wore  on  he 
discovered  that  his  own  food  came  from  the 
sachem's  stores  and  that  it  was  evidently 
chosen  for  him  with  regard  to  the  Indian's 
notion  of  what  the  white  man  preferred. 
Thus  he  was  served  with  meat  always  once 
a  day,  although  he  would  more  often  have 


120         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

chosen  to  do  without  it,  and  fish  was  fre- 
quent. Also  a  certain  regularity  was  observed 
by  his   ancient  handmaiden,    his   morning 
meal  being  prepared  for  him  ere  he  was  more 
than  half  awake  —  indeed,  it  was  often  the 
fumes  of  the  fire  or  the  moving  about  of  the 
squaw  that  aroused  him  —  and  the  evening 
meal  coming  at  about  five  in  the  afternoon. 
Not  infrequently  at  first  he  grew  hungry  long 
before  the  second  meal  appeared,  missing 
the  hearty  midday  dinner  to  which  he  was 
accustomed,  but  before  long  he  grew  used  to 
the  new  arrangement.    Had  he  sought  food 
at  such  times  as  he  wished  it,  he  would  not 
have  had  far  to  seek,  for  the  Indian,  what- 
ever faults  he  had,  was  never  inhospitable. 
To  tarry  near  where  a  family  was  eating  was 
sufficient  to  draw  an  invitation,  as  David  dis- 
covered one  day.  On  that  occasion,  although 
he  had  no  stomach  for  it,  he  partook  of  a 
loathsome    stew    of    doubtful    ingredients 
rather  than  seem  discourteous,  for  it  was  his 
effort  to  make  as  many  friends  as  he  might. 
This  evening,  ere  his  meal  was  ready  for 
him,  John  returned,  and  to  him  David  put 
the  question :  "  What  meat  does  the  squaw 
cook  ?  "  After  some  difficulty  John  was  made 
to  understand  and  he  went  inside  and  spoke 


VILLAGE  OF  WACHOOSETTS    121 

to  the  squaw.  When  he  returned  he  said, 
"  Squaw  say  '  pequas.' ' 

"  Pequas  "  meant  fox,  and  David  consid- 
ered the  matter  for  a  minute.  He  had  heard 
of  foxes  being  eaten  by  the  Indians :  even  on 
occasion  by  the  English  settlers,  though  not 
from  choice;  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  to 
have  turned  up  his  nose  at  dog-meat  and  now 
approve  of  fox-meat  was  foolish,  for,  save 
that  one  ran  wild  and  other  was  tame,  there 
could  be  little  to  choose  between  them.  As  a 
result  of  his  cogitation,  he  ate  little  supper, 
for  the  half-boiled  beans  were  both  few  and 
wretched.  John  ate  the  meat  without  demur. 

Later  they  talked  again  as  the  darkness 
crept  up  the  mountain  and  the  scattered  fires 
made  orange-hued  glows  about  the  village. 
The  talk  was  halting,  however,  and  difficult, 
and  before  long  David  went  to  his  hard  couch 
and  John,  drawing  his  skin  cloak  about  his 
bronze  shoulders,  squatted  without  the  door- 
way and  smoked.  David's  thoughts  that 
night  were  wistful  of  home  and  his  father, 
but  not  for  long  since  sleep  soon  came  to 
his  still  wearied  body. 


CHAPTER  X 
SEQUANAWAH  PLEDGES  FRIENDSHIP 

ON  the  morrow  he  was  summoned  to  the 
sachem,  and  on  entering  the  big  wigwam 
found  it  half  full  of  Indians.  Most  of  them 
were  young  men,  although  a  few  were  of 
middle-age  and  one  quite  old.  In  all  there 
were  some  eighteen  or  twenty  including  the 
sachem  himself  and  the  interpreter  of  yes- 
terday. The  sachem's  wife  and  the  three 
children  hovered  in  the  background,  and  the 
dogs  slunk  about  underfoot,  as  ever. 

David  bowed  and  gave  the  Nipmuck  salu- 
tation and  those  present  gravely  responded. 
From  the  size  of  the  audience  and  the  air  of 
gravity  prevailing,  David  judged  that  Meti- 
pom  had  assembled  his  counselors  to  learn 
what  the  white  man  could  tell  them  of  the 
trouble  between  King  Philip  and  the  English. 
His  surmise  was  soon  proved  correct,  for 
after  the  sachem  had  inquired  politely  as  to 
his  "  guest's  "  state  of  health  and  appetite, 
and  had  expressed  the  grave  hope  that  he 
had  enjoyed  much  sleep,  he  began,  through 
the  powwow,  to  question  David  about  the 


SEQUANAWAH'S   FRIENDSHIP    123 

acts  of  the  "  wicked-hearted  Pometacom." 
That  the  sachem  had  already  received  defi- 
nite and  fairly  full  information  of  the  Wam- 
panoags'  insurrection  was  evident  from  the 
questions  put.  What  Metipom  and  his  coun- 
selors seemed  most  wishful  of  knowing  was 
whether  the  Narragansett  tribe  would  join 
Philip  or  the  English.  To  this  David  truth- 
fully answered  that  the  Narragansetts  had 
given  their  promise  to  remain  neutral.  The 
sachem  then  asked  if  the  Quaboags  had  not 
cast  in  their  lot  with  Pometacom.  This  Da- 
vid could  not  answer.  He  was  asked  about 
various  other  small  tribes ;  the  Nausets,  the 
Pegans,  and  Niantics,  and  still  more  whose 
names  he  now  heard  for  the  first  time.  Of 
the  Pegans  he  said  that  they  were  friends  of 
the  English  and  would  remain  so,  having 
Monapikot's  word  for  it.  The  Niantics  he 
supposed  to  be  of  the  Narragansett  people, 
and  they  would  take  no  part.  As  to  the 
Nausets  he  knew  nothing.  His  answers  were 
discussed  at  length  by  the  chief  and  his 
counselors,  but  whether  they  agreed  or  no 
with  what  information  they  already  held 
David  could  not  guess.  In  the  end  he  was 
sent  away  courteously  enough,  leaving  the 
assemblage  still  squatting  about  the  wigwam. 


124         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

He  had  thought  when  bidden  to  the  sa- 
chem's lodge  that  his  friends  had  come  for 
him  or  sent  overtures  by  some  friendly  In- 
dian. Now,  wandering  about  the  dog- 
infested  village,  he  found  himself  wondering 
why  they  had  not  done  either.  Surely,  he 
reasoned,  his  absence  could  have  gone  un- 
noted no  later  than  nightfall  two  days  pre- 
vious. His  father  might  wait  until  morning 
before  giving  the  alarm,  but  after  that,  action 
would,  it  seemed  to  him,  be  speedy.  After 
the  challenge  of  the  blue-marked  arrow  it 
was  not  likely  that  his  father  would  fail  to 
connect  his  disappearance  with  Woosona- 
metipom.  Surely,  he  concluded,  the  rescue 
party  would  arrive  not  later  than  this  eve- 
ning. 

Having  reached  the  gate  of  the  fort,  he 
paused  and  looked  forth.  Several  Indians 
were  listlessly  stirring  the  soil  of  little  patches 
of  tobacco,  beans,  corn,  and  squashes  set 
between  the  outcropping  boulders  and 
patches  of  brush.  None  challenged  him,  and 
he  was  considering  stepping  outside  to  test 
the  sachem's  watchfulness  when  a  mop  of 
black  hair  thrust  itself  into  sight  from  about 
a  corner  of  the  wall  and  a  scowling  counte- 
nance confronted  him.  "  No  can,"  growled 


SEQUANAWAH'S  FRIENDSHIP    125 

the  sentinel.  He  placed  his  wooden  spear 
across  the  gateway  and  rattled  it  fearsomely. 
David  drew  back.  As  he  did  so  his  glance 
lifted  to  the  nearer  of  the  two  watch  towers. 
Against  the  hot  haze  of  the  noonday  sky  a 
straight  and  motionless  figure  stood  like  a 
statue  in  bronze  and  gazed  southward.  With 
vastly  more  respect  for  Metipom's  vigilance, 
David  went  slowly  and  thoughtfully  back 
toward  his  wigwam. 

Some  of  the  younger  lads  were  practicing 
shooting  with  their  bows  and  arrows,  their 
mark  the  bowl  of  a  broken  clay  pipe  which 
they  had  set  up  against  the  peeled  logs  of 
the  palisade.  David  paused  and  looked  on. 
Their  bows  were  smaller  than  those  of  their 
fathers  and  their  arrows  shorter,  and  the 
range  was  not  long,  but  David  was  surprised 
at  the  accuracy  of  their  marksmanship.  One 
youth,  whose  age  could  have  been  no  more 
than  ten,  twice  set  the  thorn-tipped  head  of 
his  arrow  close  beside  the  tiny  target,  whereat 
David  exclaimed,  "Winnet!  Winnet!" 
(  "  Good !  Good !  "  ) ,  and  the  others  began  to 
cry  "  Winnet !  "  too,  more,  it  seemed,  for  the 
sake  of  noise  than  aught  else,  while  the 
small,  naked  boy,  whose  skin  was  the  color 
of  a  young  fawn,  marched  about  with  ridicu- 


126          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

lous  pompousness  and  chanted  "  Sasketup !  " 
which  meant  "  a  great  man."  So  absurd 
were  the  rascal's  actions  that  David  burst 
into  a  laugh,  and  that  produced  scowls  and 
mutterings  from  the  youth,  for  the  Indians 
were  sensitive  to  derision  and  the  lad  mis- 
took David's  amusement  for  ridicule.  He 
stopped  in  his  march  of  triumph,  shook  his 
small  bow  angrily,  and  launched  into  a  shrill 
jumble  of  words,  few  of  which  David  could 
understand.  At  their  companion's  anger  the 
others  howled  gleefully,  jumping  about  and 
striking  attitudes.  It  seemed  that  what  the 
boy  was  pouring  forth  was  a  challenge,  for 
now  he  held  forth  his  bow  and  an  arrow  and 
pointed  to  the  mark.  David,  who  had  seldom 
attempted  so  difficult  a  shot  with  the  native 
weapon,  although  he  had  frequently  used  a 
bow  when  hunting  with  Monapikot,  hesi- 
tated. Whereupon  the  incensed  lad  became 
the  more  derisive,  and  his  playmates,  trans- 
ferring their  sympathies,  joined  in  the  chorus 
of  taunts. 

"  Nay,  then,  I'll  try  it,"  said  David,  and 
accepted  the  bow  and  arrow. 

They  were  scarcely  more  than  toys  to  his 
long  arms  and  the  pipe-bowl  looked  very 
small.  But  he  set  the  notch  into  the  string, 


SEQUANAWAH'S  FRIENDSHIP    127 

drew,  and  shot.  The  arrow,  lighter  than  he 
had  reckoned,  stuck  its  head  more  than  a  foot 
below  the  mark,  although  on  a  good  line 
with  it.  "  Sasketup  "  viewed  the  result  with 
supreme  contempt,  and  the  comments  of  his 
companions  were,  while  unintelligible  to  Da- 
vid, plainly  unflattering. 

"  Arrow  him  too  short,"  said  a  voice  be- 
hind him,  and  David  turned  to  see  Sequana- 
wah,  his  captor  of  two  days  ago.  Sequana- 
wah  took  an  arrow  from  one  of  the  larger 
boys  and  held  it  forth.  "  You  try  um,"  he 
said.  David  had  better  fortune  this  time,  for 
the  arrow  struck  less  than  an  inch  above  the 
mark.  "  Winnet !  "  grunted  the  boys  and 
"  Good  shoot,"  said  Sequanawah. 

Several  of  the  youths  crowded  about  Da- 
vid and  offered  their  arrows  for  him  to  try, 
but  he  shook  his  head,  laughing,  thinking  it 
well  to  stop  before  he  had,  by  a  worse  shot, 
destroyed  what  renown  he  had  gained.  The 
lad  who  had  challenged  scowled  crestfallenly 
as  David  turned  away  and  called  a  shrill 
taunt  after  him.  The  words  David  did  not 
know,  but  their  meaning  was  evident  enough : 
"  I  dare  you  to  try  again,  Englishman !  " 

To  David's  surprise,  Sequanawah  accom- 
panied him  to  the  wigwam  and  there  squatted 


128         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

inside  with  the  manner  of  one  paying  a  visit 
of  ceremony.  Gravely  David  offered  hospi- 
tality. 

"  Will  you  eat  meat?  "  he  asked. 

Sequanawah  shook  his  head.   "  Me  full." 

In  that  case,  as  David  knew,  he  should 
offer  pipe  and  tobacco.  Not  having  either, 
however,  he  smiled  and  pointed  to  the  pouch 
that  hung  at  the  Indian's  girdle.  "  You 
smoke,"  he  said. 

Sequanawah  bowed  and  drew  pipe  and 
pouch  to  his  knees  and  filled  his  bowl  gravely 
and  in  silence.  That  done,  he  searched  in 
the  blackened  embers  of  the  fire  and  pres- 
ently brought  forth  a  tiny  coal  that  showed 
a  gray  ash.  On  this  he  breathed  gently. 
The  flakey  ash  disappeared  and  gradually  a 
glow  of  fire  took  its  place.  To  David  the 
performance  smacked  of  the  miraculous,  for 
he  would  have  sworn  that  the  ember  was  as 
dead  as  any  that  Sequanawah  had  cast 
aside.  When  his  pipe  was  lighted,  the 
Wachoosett  smoked  for  a  minute  in  silence, 
his  dark  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground.  Then  he 
laid  the  pipe  beside  him  and  spoke. 

"Urn  well?  "he  asked. 

"  Aye,  brother." 

The  Indian  nodded  as  with  satisfaction. 


SEQUANAWAH'S  FRIENDSHIP    129 

"  David  man  good  shoot,"  he  went  on.  "  Um 
shoot  plenty  um  shoot  more  good.  Um  got 
cossaquot?  " 

"  Cossaquot?  "  repeated  David. 

"  Aye,  cossaquot."  He  drew  an  imaginary 
bow-string,  snapped  his  thumb  and  fore- 
finger apart,  and  gazed  through  the  wigwam 
door. 

"  You  mean  bow  and  arrows  ?  Nay,  I  no 
got  cossaquot,  brother." 

"  Me  make  um  you  plenty  good.  You 
shoot  um  all-time.  You  be  good  shoot,  good 
fight,  good  hunt." 

"  Thank  you,  Sequanawah ;  I  should  like 
that." 

"  Aye,"  grunted  the  Indian. 

Conversation  lapsed.  Sequanawah  re- 
placed the  stem  of  his  pipe  between  his  lips 
and  smoked  awhile.  At  last  he  emptied  the 
ashes  from  the  bowl,  arose  and  walked  to  the 
entrance.  There  he  turned,  laid  a  hand  on 
his  heart,  and  then  pointed  to  David.  "  Se- 
quanawah um  brother,"  he  said  simply. 
"  Nawhaw  nissis." 

"  Farewell,"  returned  David.  "  May  your 
meat  do  you  much  good." 

He  was  glad  to  have  gained  Sequanawah's 
friendship,  although  whether  it  would  profit 


i3o         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

him  any  remained  to  be  seen.  Sequanawah 
had  attended  the  conference  in  the  sachem's 
wigwam  that  morning,  which  indicated  that 
he  was  a  counselor  and  one  of  the  tribe's 
principal  men,  perhaps  a  captain  amongst  the 
warriors.  In  which  case  his  avowal  of  friend- 
ship might  result  most  fortunately.  Later, 
David  sought  to  learn  more  of  Sequanawah 
from  John,  but  the  latter's  English  was  too 
povern. 

It  was  mid-afternoon,  toward  the  end  of 
the  sleep-hour,  when  David,  seated  rather 
disconsolately  in  the  shade  outside  his  lodge, 
saw  two  Indians  approaching.  He  knew 
neither  by  sight,  although  he  had  already 
learned  to  recognize  a  good  many  of  the  in- 
habitants of  the  village.  Both  were  young 
men  and  each  was  armed  with  tomahawk, 
knife,  and  spear.  They  motioned  to  him  to 
accompany  them  and  he  did  so.  They  led  the 
way  toward  the  sachem's  lodge,  but  instead 
of  entering  they  went  past.  From  within  the 
wigwam  David  heard  the  voice  of  Woosona- 
metipom  and  another.  The  two  Indians  went 
on  toward  the  gate.  David  saw  that  the 
watch  tower  was  no  longer  occupied.  At  the 
opening  in  the  palisade  one  of  the  Indians 
fell  in  behind  David  and  they  passed  through. 


SEQUANAWAH'S  FRIENDSHIP    131 

So  far  as  the  boy  could  see,  the  gate  was  no 
longer  guarded.  Looking  down  the  slope 
toward  the  belt  of  forest,  his  gaze  was  at- 
tracted by  a  faint  column  of  smoke  that 
seemed  to  arise  from  the  meadow  beyond  the 
forest.  The  garden  patches  were  deserted 
and  the  leaves  of  the  tobacco  plants  hung 
limply  in  the  hot  sun.  To  the  left  they  went, 
making  their  way  between  bushes  and  over 
brambles  and  following  no  perceptible  trail 
until  the  shadow  of  the  woods  met  them. 
Keeping  at  the  edge  of  the  trees,  the  Indian 
who  led  proceeded  for  the  better  part  of  a 
mile,  thus  presently  losing  sight  of  the  vil- 
lage as  the  curve  of  the  hill  intervened.  It 
was  hot  and  sultry  and  the  pace  was  fast, 
and  David,  being  well  weighted  with  cloth- 
ing in  comparison  with  his  companions,  was 
soon  in  a  fine  perspiration. 

He  wondered  greatly  where  they  were 
taking  him  and  why.  He  had,  however,  no 
fear.  If  harm  was  to  come  to  him,  it  would 
come  in  the  village,  for  the  Indians  would 
make  a  public  event  of  his  torture  or  execu- 
tion and  not  conduct  either  secretly.  What 
seemed  the  most  probable  was  that  the  In- 
dian outposts  had  sent  word  that  his  friends 
were  approaching  and  that  he  was  being 


132          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

taken  away  to  some  place  of  hiding.  When, 
after  another  half-mile,  the  leader  turned 
down  the  slope  and  entered  a  park-like  ex- 
panse of  oaks  and  at  last  came  to  a  stop, 
David  knew  that  his  surmise  had  been  cor- 
rect. Before  them  was  a  ledge  of  rock  out- 
cropping from  the  forest  floor.  A  giant  oak 
with  a  twisted  trunk  sent  sprawling  roots 
above  and  about  it,  and  one  root,  the  tap- 
root as  it  seemed,  had  gone  straight  down 
through  a  crevice  in  the  ledge  and,  gradually 
increasing  in  size,  had  forced  the  rock  apart 
so  that  there  lay  a  narrow  opening,  half- 
hidden  by  ferns.  Into  this  the  first  Indian 
squirmed  and  was  instantly  gone  from  sight. 
Somewhat  hesitantly,  David  followed,  and 
being  clothed  and  wider  of  shoulder,  would 
have  stuck  in  the  aperture  had  not  the  sec- 
ond Indian  shoved  upon  him.  Thereupon 
David  went  free  and  found  his  feet  scrabbling 
on  broken  particles  of  stone  and  himself  in 
a  sudden  and  confusing  darkness. 

"  Hub,"  said  the  Indian  ahead,  and  as 
"  hub"  meant  "  come,"  David,  feeling  his 
way,  followed.  For  several  paces  the  path  led 
steeply  downward.  Then  the  earth  became 
level  and  David  stopped.  Behind  him  the 
second  Indian  was  scuffling  softly  down  to 


SEQUANAWAH'S  FRIENDSHIP    133 

join  them.  As  his  eyes  accustomed  them- 
selves to  the  change  from  daylight  to  gloom, 
David  made  out  dimly  that  he  was  standing 
in  a  roomy  cave.  It  appeared  to  be  a  half- 
dozen  paces  in  width,  more  than  the  height 
of  a  man  from  floor  to  roof  and  of  indeter- 
minable depth.  It  was  refreshingly  cool  down 
there.  David's  companions  seated  them- 
selves between  him  and  the  narrow  passage 
that  led  upward  and  out,  and  through  which 
the  daylight  entered  subduedly,  and  stolidly 
filled  their  pipes.  There  being  naught  else 
to  do,  David  likewise  seated  himself  on  the 
ground,  finding  a  spot  where  the  wall  of  rock 
provided  a  rest  for  his  shoulders.  The  floor 
of  the  cave  was  dry,  seeming  to  consist  of  the 
powdered  particles  of  the  granite  ledge  above, 
although,  as  he  discovered  after  being  seated 
awhile,  there  were  occasional  sharp  frag- 
ments of  stone  as  well. 

He  wondered  how  long  he  would  have  to 
stay  there.  The  thought  that  even  now  his 
father  or  others  from  his  country  might  be  no 
more  than  two  miles  distant  filled  him  with 
discouragement  and  a  sort  of  dull  anger. 
They  would  be  welcomed  by  the  sachem  and 
entertained  with  food  and  tobacco,  and  all 
their  questioning  would  come  to  naught. 


i34         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

Though  they  searched  high  and  low  and 
never  so  carefully  they  would  find  no  trace 
of  him.  Sitting  there  in  the  half-light  of  the 
cavern,  the  only  sound  the  soft  sucking  of 
the  Indians'  pipes,  the  boy's  thoughts  were 
far  from  happy,  and  once  his  eyes  grew  moist 
ere,  with  a  shrug  of  impatience  for  his  weak- 
ness, he  forced  back  the  tears. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  CAVE  IN  THE  FOREST 

WHEN  the  light  that  came  in  by  the  narrow 
cleft  in  the  ledge  had  grown  dim,  the  Indians 
produced  food,  dried  fish  that  smelled  none 
too  good  and  parched  corn,  and  shared  them 
with  the  captive.  David  was  not  hungry,  but 
ate  as  he  might,  for  the  idea  of  making  his 
escape  ere  the  night  was  over  had  come  to 
him,  and  should  he  find  an  opportunity  to 
make  the  attempt  he  would  be  better  for 
food  in  his  stomach.  After  the  brief  meal 
one  of  the  Indians  disappeared  and  pres- 
ently returned  with  water  in  a  fold  of  birch 
bark.  By  then  the  cave  was  utterly  black 
and  David  could  no  longer  see  his  compan- 
ions. The  latter,  who  had  spoken  to  each 
other  but  seldom  during  the  afternoon,  now 
became  talkative,  and  David  amused  him- 
self in  trying  to  understand  something  of 
their  conversation.  But  it  was  no  use,  for, 
although  now  and  then  a  sound  that  was 
familiar  came  to  him,  the  most  of  it  was 
gibberish.  Perhaps  two  hours  passed,  and 
then  once  more  the  entrance  to  the  cave  was 


136         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

illumined,  though  but  dimly,  as  the  star- 
light flooded  the  open  wood.  David  was  re- 
solved to  let  no  chance  go  by,  and  for  that 
reason  fought  hard  against  the  sleep  that 
weighted  his  eyelids.  If,  he  reasoned,  he  could 
in  some  manner  get  past  the  Indians  and 
through  the  entrance  without  their  knowl- 
edge, he  might  elude  them  in  the  gloom  of 
the  forest  and,  by  traveling  eastward,  dis- 
cover the  trail  leading  to  Sudbury  and  there 
lie  in  wait  for  the  returning  party  of  his 
friends.  The  Indians  gradually  ceased  their 
talk  and  silence  fell  again.  At  last  one  of 
them  stirred  and  spoke  briefly.  The  other  re- 
sponded with  a  grunt  and  the  entrance  was 
darkened  momentarily  as  the  first  speaker 
slipped  out  of  the  cavern. 

David  lay  down  then  and  simulated  slum- 
ber, breathing  regularly.  He  would  have 
given  much  to  have  known  whither  the  other 
savage  had  gone ;  whether  back  to  the  village 
or  only  to  some  post  of  watching  near  by. 
Peering  across  the  cave,  he  saw  the  glow  of 
the  Indian's  pipe  at  intervals.  Then  it  went 
out  and  silence  settled  more  deeply.  After  a 
long  while  the  Indian  muttered,  sighed,  and 
then  began  to  breathe  heavily  and  with  a 
rasping  sound.  David's  heart  beat  fast  while 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  FOREST     137 

he  waited  for  his  jailer  to  sink  more  deeply 
in  slumber.  Ten  minutes  passed,  and  then, 
with  only  such  sound  as  was  caused  by  his 
knees  and  toes  on  the  gravel  floor,  he  started 
to  creep  toward  the  entrance.  To  reach  it  he 
must  pass  close  to  the  Indian,  for  the  latter 
was  near  the  middle  of  the  cave,  his  form  dis- 
cernible against  the  faint  light  of  the  open- 
ing. He  had  not  laid  himself  down,  but  had 
fallen  asleep  where  he  sat,  his  head  fallen 
forward  on  his  chest. 

A  few  inches  at  a  time  was  all  David  dared 
attempt,  ready  to  sink  to  the  ground  and  pre- 
tend sleep  at  the  first  token  of  wakefulness 
on  the  part  of  the  savage.  When  he  had 
brought  himself  to  within  arm's  reach  of  the 
sleeper,  the  latter's  breathing  broke  in  a  mut- 
ter and  the  boy  dropped  to  the  floor  and  lay 
very  still.  The  Indian  stirred,  changed  his 
position  slightly,  it  seemed,  and  then,  when  a 
long  moment  had  passed,  sank  back  to  sleep. 
David's  heart  was  beating  so  hard  and  so 
fast  that  the  sound  of  it,  like  the  ticking  of  a 
great  clock,  seemed  to  fill  the  cavern,  and 
he  almost  expected  that  the  noise  of  it  would 
awaken  the  Indian. 

At  last  he  was  well  past  and  the  ground 
sloped  upward  to  the  narrow  crevice  beyond 


138         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

which  the  purple  night  sky  lay.  He  paused 
long  and  listened.  The  Indian  still  breathed 
regularly.  He  took  a  deep  breath  and  went 
forward,  rising  now  to  his  feet  and  guiding 
himself  by  his  hands  along  the  narrowing 
walls.  Once  a  stone,  disturbed  by  his  tread, 
trickled  downward  with  a  noise  that,  to 
David,  sounded  loud  enough  to  wake  the 
very  dead,  and  it  was  only  by  a  great  effort 
of  will  that  he  held  himself  silent  there  and 
did  not,  in  a  sudden  panic,  rush  up  the  rest 
of  the  ascent. 

The  noise  failed  to  disturb  the  sleeper.  An 
Indian,  although  David  did  not  know  it  then, 
sleeps  deeply  and  is  difficult  to  awake,  and  to 
that  fact  he  doubtless  owed  the  moment's  es- 
cape. After  an  instant,  during  which  his 
heart  gradually  sank  back  from  his  throat, 
or  seemed  to,  he  went  on.  By  turning  side- 
wise  he  had  no  great  difficulty  in  getting 
through  the  mouth  of  the  crevice,  and  as  his 
body  brushed  the  ferns  aside  a  flood  of  warm 
air  enveloped  him.  He  crouched  motionless 
at  the  entrance  and  gazed  sharply  about  him 
in  the  confusion  of  starlight  and  shadow. 

Under  the  great  oaks  which  were  spaced 
well  apart  as  though  planted  by  man,  the 
gloom  was  deep  and  impenetrable.  In  the 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  FOREST     139 

open  spaces  the  light  of  a  million  twinkling 
stars  made  blue  pools  of  dim  radiance 
wherein  David  could  make  out  the  shapes  of 
fern  patches  or  the  crouching  form  of  a  rock. 
Somewhere  in  the  higher  branches  of  a  tree 
a  bird  twittered  sleepily.  Afar  off  an  owl 
hooted.  For  the  rest  only  the  silence  of  a  hot, 
breathless  night. 

He  dared  not  stay  where  he  was  for  long 
lest  the  Indian  behind  should  awake  and, 
seeking  him,  discover  his  flight,  while  to 
move  forward  meant  risking  recapture  in 
case  the  other  savage,  he  who  had  gone  from 
the  cave  earlier  in  the  evening,  was  on  guard 
near  by.  But  once  well  away  from  his  prison, 
David  believed  he  would  be  safe  so  long  as 
darkness  lasted,  and  to  get  away  he  must  risk 
the  presence  of  the  second  savage.  Moving 
cautiously,  testing  each  step  that  he  took,  he 
drew  himself  away  from  the  cavern  entrance 
and  the  edge  of  the  shadowed  patch  beneath 
the  twisted  oak.  Monapikot  had  taught  him 
the  skill  that  takes  one  through  the  woods  in 
silence,  even  in  the  night  when  the  other 
senses  must  make  up  for  sight,  and  David 
caused  scarce  the  swaying  of  a  fern  frond  as 
he  made  his  slow  way  up  the  gentle  slope, 
keeping  always  to  the  shadows.  Fortunately 


i4o         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

there  was  little  underbrush  save  patches  of 
fern  and  brake,  and  the  ground  was  soft  in 
most  places  with  its  carpet  of  dead  and  rot- 
ting leaves  and  took  his  footfalls  in  silence. 
Only  once  ere  he  drew  nigh  the  edge  of  the 
oak  forest  did  he  make  a  sound.  Then,  for 
the  moment  neglecting  caution,  he  set  his 
foot  on  a  dead  twig  and  it  snapped  beneath 
his  weight  with  the  sudden  report  of  a  tiny 
pistol.  He  stopped  short  and  crouched  back 
amongst  the  black  shadows  and  listened 
anxiously.  And  it  was  well  that  he  did  so, 
for  when  an  instant  had  passed  there  came 
to  him  the  sound  of  a  man's  sleepy  yawn 
from  some  spot  not  many  paces  away  to  his 
left! 

The  Indian  who  had  left  the  cave  was 
watching  from  above,  watching,  perhaps,  lest 
the  English  find  the  tracks  they  had  left  and 
approach  by  the  open  ground ! 

David,  appalled  by  the  narrow  margin  of 
his  escape  from  walking  almost  straight  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy,  trembled  a  little  as 
he  sank  back  on  his  heels  and,  scarcely  dar- 
ing to  breathe,  stared  intently  in  the  direction 
of  the  sound.  But  the  Indian  was  not  visible 
to  him,  although  he  searched  every  foot  of 
gloomy  forest  above  the  cave  until  his  eyes 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  FOREST     141 

ached.  He  had  meant  to  gain  the  open  space 
whereby  they  had  approached  in  the  after- 
noon, and  thus,  following,  as  well  as  memory 
would  allow,  their  trail,  come  within  distant 
sight  of  the  palisade  and  then  dip  down  the 
lower  slope  of  the  mountain  and  so  reach  the 
trail  to  the  south.  But  to  do  that  now  he 
must  pass  below  the  cave  and  keep  to  the 
forest  until  well  beyond  the  position  of  the 
sentinel  and  not  until  then  emerge  into  the 
open.  At  all  hazards,  he  told  himself,  he 
would  put  much  space  between  himself  and 
the  Indian  there,  even  if  in  so  doing  he  lost 
all  sense  of  direction.  It  were  better  to  risk 
being  lost  than  recapture. 

Acting  on  this  resolve,  he  slipped  around 
the  great  bole  of  an  oak  and,  keeping  it  be- 
tween him  and  the  spot  from  whence  the 
sound  of  the  yawn  had  come,  stole  obliquely 
down  the  slope.  He  made  but  slow  progress, 
for  in  the  hush  of  the  woods  even  the  nick- 
ing of  a  branch  or  the  crunch  of  an  acorn 
might  arouse  the  suspicions  of  the  sentinel. 
The  Indian  hearing  is  very  acute  and  David 
had  heard  amazing  instances  of  it.  Slowly, 
stealthily  he  went,  and  not  until  a  full  two 
hundred  paces  had  been  traversed  did  he 
turn  at  something  less  than  a  right  angle  to 


142         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

his  course  and  make  along  the  hill  well  below 
the  cave.  The  forest  was  less  park-like  here, 
and  saplings,  whether  of  oak  or  maple  he 
was  not  able  to  say,  made  travel  more  diffi- 
cult. Low  branches  must  be  felt  for  and 
carefully  bent  aside  and  as  carefully  released, 
while  the  earth  beneath  held  more  litter  of 
fallen  twigs.  Absolute  silence  was  well-nigh 
impossible  now,  and  he  must  trust  to  the  dis- 
tance between  him  and  his  foe.  It  was  warm 
in  the  forest,  warm  and  humid,  and  the  boy's 
body  was  soon  bathed  in  perspiration  and  his 
hands  sweated  so  that  his  grasp  on  the  im- 
peding branches  sometimes  slipped  and  they 
whipped  his  face  cruelly  and  seemed  deter- 
mined to  reveal  his  presence.  But  after  a 
while  he  breathed  more  freely  and  stopped 
to  rest. 

He  was  very  weary  now  and  would  have 
asked  nothing  better  than  to  have  lain  him- 
self down  and  slept.  But  in  spite  of  all  his 
painful  travel,  he  was  still  but  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  cave,  and  had  he  failed  to 
awaken  before  dawn  would  of  a  certainty 
been  soon  found.  He  reckoned  on  at  least 
four  hours  yet  before  the  light  and  in  those 
four  hours  meant  to  put  as  many  miles  be- 
tween him  and  his  Indian  guards.  That  they 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  FOREST    143 

would  find  him  eventually,  unless  he  were 
fortunate  enough  to  intercept  the  English 
party  on  their  way  back,  was  certain,  for  they 
would  find  his  tracks  in  the  forest  and  follow 
them  as  a  hound  follows  the  scent  of  a  fox. 
His  hope,  therefore,  lay  in  reaching  the  In- 
dian trail  to  the  south  while  darkness  still 
held  and  there  lying  in  wait  for  his  friends. 
After  that  his  fate  was  in  the  hands  of  Prov- 
idence. If  his  pursuers  came  first,  his  efforts 
would  have  been  in  vain. 

Midges  or  some  other  small  insects  an- 
noyed him  while  he  rested,  and  once  a 
prowling  animal,  no  larger  than  a  small  dog, 
slunk  out  of  the  gloom  but  a  pace  away  and 
startled  him  with  the  green  fires  of  its  staring 
eyes.  David  moved  but  his  foot  and  the  beast 
was  gone  with  a  snarl.  Up  the  slope  he  went 
then,  from  shadow  patch  to  shadow  patch, 
the  trees  thinning,  and  presently  the  open 
ground,  rock-strewn,  bush-grown,  lay  before 
him  in  the  soft  radiance  of  the  stars.  He 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief,  for  somehow 
emerging  from  the  gloom  of  the  forest 
seemed  like  stepping  from  a  dark  prison  into 
freedom.  But  freedom  was  not  yet  his,  as  he 
well  knew,  and,  glancing  uneasily  to  the  left 
toward  where,  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile 


144          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

away,  the  sentinel  watched,  he  made  off  with 
swift  steps  toward  the  village,  keeping 
always  to  the  dark  marge  of  the  forest. 

He  speedily  found  that  haste  and  quiet 
would  not  agree,  for  in  the  gloom  he  caught 
a  foot  in  a  tangle  of  root  or  vine  and  meas- 
ured his  length,  exclaiming  in  spite  of  him- 
self when  his  chin  came  rudely  down  on  a 
stone.  Thereafter  he  went  more  slowly. 
When  a  half-hour  had  gone  by,  a  faint  flush 
of  light  met  his  sight.  It  was,  he  believed, 
the  dim  yellow  glare  of  a  fire  in  the  village 
showing  above  the  wall.  He  went  on  more 
cautiously,  the  light  drawing  nearer  yet  be- 
coming more  faint,  as  if  the  fire  were  dying. 
At  last  he  imagined  that  he  could  when 
crouching  to  the  ground  make  out  the  fort 
perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  He  dared 
go  no  closer  lest  there  be  guards  set  outside 
the  palisade,  and  so  he  turned  into  the  forest, 
first  fixing  his  gaze  on  a  great  star  more 
brilliant  than  its  fellows  and  burning  with  a 
redder  light  that  hung  in  the  heavens  to  the 
southeast.  He  would  be  guided  by  that,  he 
thought.  But  once  in  the  forest  the  orb  was 
instantly  lost  to  him,  for  here  there  were 
pines  and  hemlocks  growing  so  closely  to- 
gether that  only  now  and  again  could  he 


THE  CAVE  IN  THE  FOREST     145 

glimpse  a  bit  of  the  sky  between  their  clus- 
tering branches.  Smaller  trees  and  bushes 
fought  for  life  beneath  the  evergreens  and 
ever  he  must  step  aside  this  way  or  that  until 
before  long  all  sense  of  direction  had  left  him 
and  he  went  on  in  a  blackness  that  had  no 
relief,  trusting  to  fortune. 

That  he  would  know  the  trail  should  he 
come  to  it  seemed  too  much  to  hope  for  now. 
It  seemed  far  more  likely  that,  if  his  prog- 
ress, indeed,  led  him  in  the  right  direction, 
he  would  cross  the  forest  path  without 
knowledge.  And  so,  when  some  time  had 
passed,  he  became  doubly  watchful  for  a 
thinning  out  of  the  underbrush,  and  when  the 
trees  seemed  less  closely  set  he  went  no  far- 
ther until  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  he  had 
not  reached  the  trail.  It  was  difficult  going 
for  more  reasons  than  the  forest  growth,  for 
fallen  trees  barred  his  way  and  clutched  at 
his  clothing  with  stark  and  splintered  hands. 
He  had  lost  all  knowledge  of  time.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  had  been  fighting  through  the 
woods  for  hours  and  that  daylight  must  now 
be  no  more  than  just  beyond  the  world's  rim. 
But  the  thick,  velvety  blackness  continued 
and  the  sky,  when  infrequently  seen,  looked 
no  lighter  than  before.  He  grew  hopeless  and 


146         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

despondent,  certain  that  he  had  fallen  into 
the  easy  error  of  circling,  not  sure  that  the 
trail  was  not  behind  him  instead  of  before. 
Weariness  took  toll  of  hope.  Every  muscle 
in  his  body  ached  and  his  lungs  grew  sore. 
Pauses  for  rest,  during  which  he  leaned 
against  a  tree  or  subsided  on  a  fallen  log, 
fighting  for  breath  and  against  the  languor 
that  threatened  to  bring  sleep  upon  him,  be- 
came more  and  more  frequent. 

In  the  end  he  grew  to  care  no  whit  what 
fate  befell  him  if  only  he  might  sleep.  And 
yet  some  voice  at  the  back  of  his  tired  brain 
called  him  awake  whenever  his  eyes  closed 
and  sent  him  staggering  on  again.  And  thus, 
at  length,  what  wits  remained  to  him  stayed 
his  steps  and  sent  him  feeling  about  in  the 
darkness,  while  hope  surged  back  to  his  heart. 
Behind  him  were  trees,  but  to  the  right  and 
to  the  left  were  none  until  he  had  twice 
stepped  forward!  Turning  to  the  right  he 
went  cautiously  ahead.  Nothing  impeded 
him.  More,  his  feet  trod  hard  earth  between 
the  crawling  roots  of  the  pines.  He  dropped 
to  his  knees  and  felt  the  ground.  Clean  it 
was,  and  the  roots  that  crossed  it  were  worn 
with  many  feet.  He  had  found  the  trail ! 


CHAPTER  XII 
DAVID  FACES  DEATH 

FEELING  his  way  back  to  where  the  hanging 
branches  of  a  small  hemlock  promised  to 
screen  him  from  the  trail,  David  sank  to  the 
ground  with  a  shivering  sigh  of  relief.  While 
it  might  be  that  a  long  and  weary  vigil 
awaited  him,  yet  to  be  able  to  stretch  his 
aching  body  and  relax  his  taut  muscles  was 
a  blissful  thing.  When  his  breathing  had 
quieted,  the  sounds  of  the  night,  unheard  or 
unnoted  while  he  journeyed,  came  to  him 
eerily:  the  faint  stirrings  of  small  animals, 
the  scratching  noise  of  a  raccoon  or  hedge- 
hog clawing  his  way  up  a  tree-trunk,  a  brief 
flurry  in  the  brush  a  little  way  off  and  the 
agonized  squeal  of  some  tiny  victim  surprised 
by  the  slayer,  and,  suddenly,  shudderingly 
near,  the  long-drawn  howl  of  a  wolf. 

The  latter  sound  brought  to  the  boy  a  real- 
ization of  his  unarmed  condition.  Not  even 
a  knife  did  he  have.  He  sought  within  his 
reach  for  some  branch  that  might  serve  for 
a  club,  but  found  nothing.  After  all,  it  mat- 
tered little,  for  it  was  not  wolves  but  Indians 


i48         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

that  he  feared,  and  against  them  such  a 
weapon  would  avail  none.  As  for  the  wolves, 
he  had  little  fear  of  them,  knowing  them  to 
be  cowards  at  heart,  attacking  only  when  in 
force  and  having  no  liking  for  man.  He  tried 
desperately  to  keep  his  eyes  open,  but  they 
would  close  in  spite  of  his  efforts,  whereupon 
his  head  would  drop  and  he  would  pull  him- 
self back  from  the  abyss  of  sleep  with  a 
frightened  start.  He  told  himself  that,  when 
he  had  rested  but  a  little  longer,  he  would 
take  the  trail  and  travel  southward,  so  placing 
more  distance  between  him  and  his  enemies, 
walking  until  daylight  should  force  him  again 
into  concealment.  But  even  as  he  thought 
this,  his  lids  closed  again  and  his  chin  sank. 
This  time  he  did  not  start  into  wakefulness. 
After  a  moment  his  body  slid  over  sidewise, 
he  gave  a  long,  deep  sigh  and  slept. 

When  he  awoke  a  saffron  light  filled  the 
woods  and  birds  were  calling  high  in  the 
branches.  Dawn  had  come  while  he  slept, 
and  his  heart  sank  as  he  realized  that  per- 
haps his  weakness  had  lost  him  the  reward 
of  his  efforts.  It  might  well  be  that  the  Eng- 
lish had  passed  southward  already.  In  the 
stupor  that  had  held  him  it  would  have  taken 
more  than  the  tread  of  feet  on  the  trail  or  the 


DAVID  FACES  DEATH          149 

sound  of  a  voice  to  alarm  him.  He  peered 
forth  from  his  leafy  screen  and  strove  to  read 
the  trail,  but  the  well-trod  earth  told  him 
nothing.  He  was  at  an  elbow  of  the  path. 
A  few  paces  away  in  each  direction  it  bent 
eastward.  Already  the  leaves  of  a  witch  hazel 
were  pale  with  the  first  rays  of  sunlight  that 
filtered  down  through  the  thick  forest.  No 
longer  was  it  possible  for  him  to  travel  the 
trail,  though  it  might  be  that  by  proceeding 
slowly  and  with  much  caution  he  could  fol- 
low it  through  the  woods.  But  he  was  sore 
and  stiff  in  every  muscle  and  his  hands  and 
face,  whipped  and  scratched  by  the  branches, 
were  tender  to  the  touch.  He  still  craved 
rest,  and  yet  he  knew  that  should  the  English 
not  come  soon  from  the  village,  their  coming 
would  concern  him  little,  for  already  the  In- 
dians were  doubtless  seeking  him.  For  the 
first  time  it  occurred  to  him  that,  after  all,  he 
had  no  certain  knowledge  that  his  friends 
had  come  for  him  yesterday.  There  might  be 
some  other  reason  for  concealing  him  in  the 
cave.  Perchance  an  alarm  had  been  brought 
to  the  fort  that  later  had  proven  false.  The 
thought  dismayed  him  and  for  a  moment  he 
contemplated  taking  the  trail  boldly  and 
making  what  haste  his  tired  limbs  would  al- 


150         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

low,  trusting  to  luck  to  meet  none  who  would 
question,  and  so  escaping  out  of  the  Wachoo- 
sett  country  ere  pursuit  reached  him.  But 
second  thoughts  showed  the  futility  of  that 
design.  Even  had  he  been  fresh  and  untired, 
he  could  not  have  traveled  at  a  speed  great 
enough  to  elude  the  Indian  runners.  No,  if 
the  English  did  not  come  shortly  and  he  was 
still  free,  he  would  make  his  way  through  the 
forest  at  what  haste  he  might  until  darkness 
and  then  take  advantage  of  the  trail. 

Anxiously  he  waited  and  watched.  Every 
stirring  of  the  leaves  brought  his  heart  into 
his  throat.  He  was  parched  for  water,  but 
dared  not  leave  the  trail  to  seek  it.  An  hour 
passed  and  hope  passed  with  it,  for  he  was 
convinced  that  his  friends,  did  they  mean  to 
travel  back  that  day,  would  have  made  an 
early  start  and  ere  this  have  passed  his  hid- 
ing-place. Either,  then,  they  had  not  come 
yesterday  to  the  village  or  they  had  gone  by 
while  he  slept.  He  could  have  wept  with  dis- 
appointment. Hunger  began  to  make  itself 
felt,  and  he  crawled  a  few  yards  to  where  a 
black  birch  grew  and  broke  some  twigs  from 
it  and  gnawed  them.  He  had  but  settled  in 
his  place  again  when  'his  eyes,  fixed  on  the 
trail  to  the  north,  shouted rhope  to  his  heart. 


DAVID  FACES  DEATH          151 

Something  had  moved  beyond  the  leaves 
there!  An  instant  later  around  the  bend 
came  an  Indian.  Hope  vanished  and  fear 
took  its  place,  for  the  savage  was  not  the  van- 
guard of  the  English  searching  party,  but  he 
who  had  kept  watch  last  night  above  the 
cave! 

Softly  yet  swiftly  he  came,  his  tomahawk 
in  hand,  his  head  turning  from  side  to  side 
as  he  peered  with  sharp  eyes  into  the  forest. 
David  dropped  to  the  ground,  scarce  breath- 
ing. Somewhere  behind  him  in  the  depths  of 
the  wood  an  owl  hooted.  The  Indian  stopped 
abruptly  and  swept  the  forest  with  his  gaze. 
David  saw  the  brown  fingers  about  the  haft 
of  the  tomahawk  tighten.  Again  came  the 
owl's  tremulous  call,  this  time  much  nearer, 
and  David's  heart  sank  sickeningly,  for  he 
knew  that  the  sound  came  from  no  owl  and 
that  his  brief  freedom  was  near  its  end.  Turn- 
ing his  head,  he  looked  behind  him.  At  first 
there  was  naught  to  be  seen.  Then  the  branch 
of  hemlock  quivered  slightly  some  dozen  paces 
distant  and  beside  it  something  redder  than 
the  bole  of  the  tree  showed  in  the  sunlit  haze. 
The  soft  padding  of  moccasined  feet  drew 
his  gaze  to  the  trail  again,  and  any  lingering 
hope  he  may  have  had  of  escaping  detection 


152         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

died,  for  the  first  Indian  was  coming  straight 
toward  his  hiding-place,  his  black  eyes  aglit- 
ter  and  his  thin  mouth  curved  in  a  snarling 
grin.  They  were  closing  in  on  him,  front 
and  back,  and  flight  was  useless.  Yet  to  be 
taken  without  an  effort  was  not  in  his  mind, 
and,  leaping  to  his  feet,  he  brushed  past  the 
branches  that  had  hidden  him  and  sprang 
onto  the  trail.  There  was  a  cry  from  the 
savage  nearest  at  hand,  but  David  heeded  it 
not,  but  fled  fast,  his  weariness  forgotten. 

And  yet  he  knew  that  he  could  not  hope 
to  elude  his  pursuers.  Even  as  he  sped 
around  the  turn  of  the  trail,  he  heard  the 
patter  of  skin-clad  feet  behind  him  and 
thought  to  feel  the  blow  of  a  thrown  toma- 
hawk each  instant.  Some  sixty  paces  he 
made  ere  disaster  came.  Then  a  tired  foot 
failed  to  lift  itself  above  a  sprawling  root  and 
the  boy  crashed  forward  and  went  rolling 
over  and  over  into  the  bushes.  Jarred 
and  confused,  he  strove  to  regain  his  feet, 
but  the  first  of  his  foes  was  beside  him.  A 
snarling  copper-hued  face  glared  down  at 
him  and  a  knife  was  poised  above  his  heart. 

David  saw  and  yielded.  "  Netop !  "  he 
gasped.  The  Indian  grunted  and  pressed 
the  point  of  the  knife  closer,  and  the 


DAVID  FACES  DEATH          153 

boy,  looking  up  into  the  blazing  eyes, 
read  murder  in  them.  What  he  did  then 
was  done  without  thought,  in  the  con- 
suming horror  that  gripped  him.  Quickly 
lifting  a  foot,  he  thrust  it  at  the  savage's 
stomach.  The  latter  fell  backward  with  a 
grunt  of  pain,  the  knife  dropped  from  his 
hand,  and  David,  rolling  swiftly  to  one  side, 
sprang  to  his  feet.  But  the  Indian  was  up 
almost  as  soon  as  he.  Not  heeding  the  knife 
underfoot,  he  seized  his  tomahawk  and 
sprang  at  the  boy,  his  eyes  glaring  with  pain 
and  hatred  and  the  lust  to  kill.  David  turned 
to  flee,  but  a  branch  had  caught  at  his  torn 
doublet  and  now,  ere  he  could  wrest  himself 
away,  the  Wachoosett  was  on  him.  David 
saw  the  tomahawk  swing  upward  and  back, 
heard  the  savage's  indrawn  breath  rattle  in 
his  throat,  and  knew  that  the  end  of  all 
things  on  earth  had  come  to  him,  even  as, 
instinctively,  he  threw  up  an  arm  to  ward 
the  blow.  Then,  as  the  weapon  swept  down 
upon  him,  a  form  rushed  between,  the  mur- 
derous arm  was  grasped  and  dragged  aside, 
and  the  blow  ended  weakly  in  air. 

The  second  Indian  epoke  harshly  and 
with  authority  as  David,  weak  with  revul- 
sion, staggered  against  a  tree.  What  he  said 


154         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

the  boy  did  not  know,  but  it  answered,  for 
the  first  savage,  after  a  flow  of  high-pitched, 
angry  words,  yielded  grumblingly  and  moved 
aside.  David's  rescuer  pointed  to  the  trail 
sternly  and  David  moved  wearily  away 
toward  the  village.  He  realized  that  only  fear 
of  the  sachem  had  caused  the  Indian  to  in- 
tervene, for  there  was  naught  of  mercy  or 
gentleness  in  the  brave's  harsh  countenance. 
When  David  had  gone  a  few  paces,  the  first 
savage  passed  him  swiftly  and  took  the  lead, 
and  so  they  went  for  a  way,  the  boy's  limbs 
trembling  with  weariness  and  his  feet  drag- 
ging. Then  the  leader  turned  from  the  trail 
and  entered  the  forest  and  the  journey  be- 
came vastly  more  difficult.  Once,  surmount- 
ing a  fallen  tree,  David  toppled  across  it  and 
rolled  to  the  ground  beyond,  and  would  have 
stayed  there  gladly  had  not  the  second  sav- 
age threatened  him  with  his  knife.  He  stag- 
gered to  his  feet  again  and  toiled  on.  Pres- 
ently they  came  to  a  brook  and  he  made 
signs  that  he  was  thirsty  and  they  allowed 
him  to  drink.  That  put  new  strength  into  his 
body  and  he  made  better  progress.  He  be- 
lieved that  they  were  taking  him  back  to  the 
cave,  and  from  that  argued  that  the  reason 
for  his  banishment  from  the  village,  what- 


DAVID  FACES  DEATH          155 

ever  it  might  be,  still  existed.  But  before 
long  they  stopped  in  a  small  clearing  and 
his  captors  gave  him  some  parched  corn  to 
eat  and  ate  some  themselves.  Then  the  In- 
dian who  had  led  the  way  disappeared 
through  the  forest  toward  where  David 
thought  the  village  must  lie.  The  boy 
stretched  himself  -upon  the  ground  and, 
watched  sourly  by  the  remaining  savage, 
soon  slept  the  sleep  of  exhaustion. 

He  awoke  with  a  hand  tugging  at  his  shirt. 
The  Indian  who  had  gone  away  was  back, 
and  when  David  had  got  sleepily  to  his  feet 
they  went  on  once  more,  this  time  toward 
the  village.  But  a  few  minutes  brought  them 
to  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and  there,  no  more 
than  a  half-mile  distant,  stood  the  palisade. 
And  so,  tired  and  discouraged,  ragged  and 
bruised,  David  came  again  to  the  gate  in  the 
fort  and  back  into  captivity.  Past  the  Indian 
hovels  and  the  snarling  dogs,  observed  in- 
curiously by  the  inhabitants,  past  the  great 
lodge  of  the  sachem,  he  was  led  to  his  own 
wigwam  and  there,  pushed  ungently  through 
the  entrance  by  his  captors,  he  fell  to  the 
ground  and  knew  no  more  for  a  long  while. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  late  afternoon.  He 
was  sore  and  weary,  and,  although  he  had  no 


1 56          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

mirror  to  view  himself  by,  he  knew  that  his 
face  was  cut  and  scratched  in  many  places. 
He  awoke  as  one  awakes  after  a  bad  dream, 
the  sense  of  impending  misfortune  weighting 
his  spirits.  It  took  him  a  long  moment,  how- 
ever, to  recall  the  history  of  the  past  twenty- 
four  hours.  Memory  supplied  the  record  in 
fragments  and  his  confused  brain  found  diffi- 
culty in  arranging  them  in  their  sequence. 
When  it  had  done  so,  a  greater  depression 
seized  him.  He  had  lost  his  chance.  His 
friends  had  come  and  gone.  Moreover,  Met- 
ipom  would  doubtless  punish  him  for  the  at- 
tempted escape.  Life  looked  very  drab  to 
David  just  then. 

His  reflections  were  disturbed  by  the  pat 
of  moccasined  feet  on  the  trampled  ground 
outside  and  the  entrance  was  darkened  as 
the  Indian  whose  duty  it  was  to  watch  him 
and  wait  upon  him  entered.  John  showed 
such  evident  pleasure  at  seeing  the  captive 
again  that  David's  spirits  momentarily 
lightened. 

Squatting  beside  him,  John  produced  his 
pipe  and  hazarded  a  few  words  of  English. 

"  How  you  do?  "  he  asked.  "  White  bro- 
ther plenty  well  ?  " 

"  Matchanni,"  answered  David.  "  Very 
sick." 


DAVID  FACES  DEATH          157 

John  shook  his  head  and  groaned,  thus  ex- 
pressing his  sympathy.  Then,  ere  he  real- 
ized what  was  happening,  David  found  him- 
self alone  again,  for  the  young  Indian  had 
arisen  and  glided  to  the  door  in  what  seemed 
one  movement.  David  sighed.  He  craved 
companionship  and  even  John  was  better 
than  no  one. 

But  the  Indian  was  soon  back,  the  palm 
of  one  hand  filled  with  a  yellow-brown 
grease  with  which  he  began  to  anoint  the 
boy's  face. 

"  Much  good,"  he  explained. 

"  It  smells  not  good,"  grumbled  David. 

But  he  was  glad  of  the  service,  and,  in- 
deed, the  smarting  and  burning  of  the  lacera- 
tions ceased  as  though  by  magic.  Then  John 
bade  him  remove  his  clothes  and  rubbed  the 
salve  wherever  a  bruise  showed.  Afterwards, 
at  David's  request,  he  brought  water  in  a 
fold  of  bark.  Refreshed,  David  sought  in- 
formation of  his  friends,  but  the  Indian 
looked  blank  and  shook  his  head  and  David 
gave  up. 

The  old  squaw  appeared  with  a  few  live 
embers  and  an  armful  of  fagots  and  made  a 
fire,  and  to  escape  the  smoke,  David  arose, 
not  without  a  groan,  and  went  outside  and 


i58         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

seated  himself  in  the  shade  of  the  wigwam. 
John  took  himself  off  to  his  own  lodge  pres- 
ently. 

Many  fires  were  burning  and  the  village 
was  hazy  with  the  smoke  of  them.  At  a  little 
distance,  beside  the  log  barrier,  a  knot  of 
older  boys  were  throwing  flat  stones  at  a 
stake  driven  into  the  earth,  and  their  cries 
came  to  him  shrilly.  The  sun  was  sinking  be- 
hind a  shoulder  of  the  great  hill  and  its 
slanting  rays  filled  the  world  with  a  soft 
amber  radiance.  It  was  a  fair  and  peaceful 
scene,  yet  David  had  never  felt  more  lonely 
and  homesick.  The  ancient  squaw  came  to 
the  entrance  and  signed  that  his  food  was 
ready,  and  he  went  in  to  it,  though  with  little 
appetite.  As  he  nibbled  at  the  stewed  meat 
and  beans,  he  wondered  why  the  sachem  had 
not  summoned  him  for  punishment,  and 
wondered  what  the  punishment  would  be. 
Yet  no  summons  came,  and  he  went  early  to 
sleep,  both  because  he  was  still  weary  and 
because  he  wished  to  forget  his  loneliness. 
Outside,  his  jailer  sat  silent  in  his  blanket 
and  blew  clouds  of  smoke  at  the  star- 
sprinkled  sky. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  FRIEND  IN  STRANGE  GUISE 

WHEN  the  succeeding  day  had  passed  with- 
out sign  from  Metipom,  David  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  Indians  from  whom  he 
had  escaped  had  refrained  from  reporting 
the  incident  to  the  sachem  for  fear  of  his 
wrath,  which  was,  indeed,  the  true  explana- 
tion. Relieved  of  the  apprehension  of  pun- 
ishment, David's  spirits  returned  and  he  gave 
thought  to  practical  matters.  Next  to  his  im- 
prisonment the  thing  that  troubled  him  most 
just  now  was  the  state  of  his  breeches !  None 
too  new  when  he  had  been  captured,  the 
flight  through  the  forest  had  left  them  in 
tatters.  Indeed,  they  momentarily  threat- 
ened to  part  from  him  altogether !  His  shirt 
and  doublet  were  likewise  in  sorry  case,  but 
troubled  him  less.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
those  breeches  were  past  all  human  aid,  even 
had  he  possessed  thread  and  needle  where- 
with to  mend  them.  He  was  still  ruefully 
deliberating  when  Sequanawah  came  to  him 
bearing  the  bow  that  he  had  promised  and 
five  arrows.  Admiration  of  these  put  the 


160         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

other  matter  from  his  mind  for  the  time,  yet, 
when  he  had  heartily  thanked  the  Indian 
and  had  examined  the  weapon  from  tip  to 
tip,  twanging  the  cord  and  experimentally 
fitting  the  notch  of  a  stone-tipped  arrow  to  it, 
he  recalled  his  quandary  and  drew  Sequana- 
wah's  attention  to  them. 

The  Indian  viewed  the  dilapidated  gar- 
ments gravely,  finally  grunting :  "  No  good. 
Take  um  off." 

"  Aye,  but  what  shall  I  put  on  instead  ?  " 
asked  David. 

Sequanawah  suggested  a  costume  like  his 
own,  a  loin-cloth  wound  about  his  middle, 
one  end  falling  in  front  and  one  behind.  But 
David  shook  his  head  dubiously,  and  after  a 
moment  of  thought  the  Indian  grunted 
again  and  made  off.  When  he  returned  he 
brought  a  pair  of  deer-hide  breeches  such  as 
were  worn  in  winter.  Where  he  had  obtained 
them  David  did  not  know,  for  they  were  far 
too  short  for  Sequanawah,  but  fitted  the  boy 
well  enough.  In  exchange  the  Indian  took 
the  discarded  breeches,  from  which  he  glee- 
fully cut  the  two  buckles.  These,  a  few  days 
later,  David  discovered  dangling  from  a 
string  of  wampum  about  Sequanawah's  neck. 

Each  day  thereafter  David  practiced  with 


A  FRIEND  IN  STRANGE  GUISE     161 

the  new  bow,  Sequanawah  teaching.  There 
was  much  to  learn.  First,  the  cord  must  be 
of  the  right  tension,  and,  since  it  was  of  raw- 
hide, it  seemed  never  twice  the  same.  Then 
the  arrow  must  be  chosen  with  a  view  to  both 
distance  and  conditions  of  air.  With  a  hard 
wind  blowing  across  the  course  of  the  flight, 
a  heavy  arrow  was  needed,  and  so  when  the 
distance  was  great;  and  to  that  end  the 
missiles  that  Sequanawah  had  provided 
varied  both  in  length,  thickness,  and  head. 
There  was,  it  appeared,  both  a  right  way  and 
a  wrong  way  to  draw  the  bow;  or,  rather, 
there  was  one  right  way  and  several  wrong 
ways ;  and  for  a  time  David  found  only  the 
latter.  At  first  the  boy  felt  embarrassment 
because  of  the  audience  that  gathered,  for  all 
the  old  men  of  the  village  as  well  as  many  of 
the  younger  stood  by  and  discussed  each 
shot.  But  before  long  he  became  accustomed 
to  them  and  minded  not  their  grunts  of  dis- 
approval or  their  guttural  words  of  approba- 
tion. It  was  soon  evidenced  to  him  that  his 
tutor  was  one  of  the  tribe's  most  skillful 
handlers  of  the  bow.  This  he  could  tell  both 
from  the  marvelous  shots  that  Sequanawah 
made  and  from  the  evident  respect  paid  him 
by  the  others.  He  was  a  stern  yet  patient 


1 62          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

teacher,  and  it  was  not  long  ere  his  pupil  be- 
gan to  comport  himself  creditably  and  to 
earn  praise  from  even  his  tutor. 

Meanwhile  David  had  not  ceased  wonder- 
ing what  had  taken  place  during  his  absence 
from  the  village,  and  one  day,  when  he  had 
shot  better  than  ever,  he  took  courage  in 
hand  and  put  the  question  to  Sequanawah. 
Being  a  counselor,  the  Indian  might  well  re- 
sent being  questioned,  as  David  knew,  and  it 
was  not  without  misgiving  that  the  boy 
asked. 

Sequanawah  was  silent  a  moment,  and  Da- 
vid feared  that  he  was  offended.  But  pres- 
ently he  answered : 

"  One  time  come  English,  make  talk  with 
Great  Sachem,  have  food,  have  sleep,  go 
away  in  morning." 

"  Saw  you  them,  Sequanawah?  " 

"  Aye,  me  see  um." 

"  Was  one  a  tall  man,  wide  of  shoulder, 
with  a  long  beard?  " 

"  Maybe  so.    One  was  Indian." 

"A  Pegan?  "  asked  the  boy,  thinking  of 
Monapikot.  "A  young  Indian?  " 

Sequanawah  shook  his  head.  "  Old  man, 
him.  Maybe  Pegan,  maybe  Nipmuck." 

"  And  how  many  were  there  who  came?  " 


A  FRIEND  IN  STRANGE  GUISE     163 

"  Four  white  men,  one  Indian." 

"  Were  they  —  were  they  seeking  me,  Se- 
quanawah? " 

The  Indian's  countenance  became  blank 
and  he  shook  his  head.  "  Me  not  know. 
Maybe  so.  Maybe  hunt." 

No  more  than  that  would  he  tell,  but  Da- 
vid had  learned  enough  to  know  that  his 
father  had  sought  him,  as  he  had  believed. 
For  the  rest  of  the  day  he  sat  beside  his 
wigwam  and  conjectured  on  what  lie  Woo- 
sonametipom  had  told  the  searching  party, 
who,  besides  his  father,  had  made  the  jour- 
ney, what  conclusion  they  had  come  to,  and 
what  further  steps  they  would  take.  Already 
a  week  had  passed  and  nothing  further  had 
transpired  looking  to  his  rescue.  He  won- 
dered how  fared  the  war  with  King  Philip 
and  what  things  had  happened  to  the  south- 
ward. Doubtless  by  now  the  chief  of  the 
Wampanoags  had  been  properly  subdued. 
As  to  the  latter  he  questioned  both  John 
and  Sequanawah,  but  each  professed  ignor- 
ance. Twice  he  held  converse  with  the  sa- 
chem, once  when  Metipom  paused  where 
David  was  shooting  at  a  mark  set  against 
the  palisade  wall  and  once  when  the  chief 
summoned  him  to  his  lodge  and,  through  an 


i64          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

interpreter,  inquired  as  to  his  health  and 
contentment.  On  the  latter  occasion  David 
had  begged  to  be  given  his  liberty  and  the 
powwow  had  answered: 

"  Great  Sachem  say  by  and  by  he  give  you 
guide  and  send  you  back  safe." 

"  And  why  not  now?  "  David  had  asked 
boldly. 

The  medicine  man  shook  his  head.  "  Bad 
Indians  catch  um  now.  Kill  um.  Not  safe 
you  go  now.  By  and  by  you  go." 

And  with  that  promise  he  had  perforce  to 
content  himself. 

Truth  it  is  that  David  had  by  now  come 
to  accept  his  lot  with  fair  grace.  Indeed,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  thought  of  the  sorrow 
which  his  father  was  put  to  and  for  the  un- 
certainty as  to  his  ultimate  fate,  David  might 
have  found  real  enjoyment  with  his  captors. 
There  was  much  to  interest  him.  He  was 
fast  learning  their  language  and  fast  coming 
to  a  better  and  more  sympathetic  under- 
standing of  their  ways  of  life  and  of  thought. 
Woosonametipom  he  could  never  like,  but 
there  were  others  for  whom  he  had  a  friendly 
feeling:  Sequanawah  and  John  and  a  cer- 
tain gray-locked  old  man  named  Quinna- 
passo  and  others.  And,  he  believed,  these 


A  FRIEND  IN  STRANGE  GUISE     165 

returned  his  liking.  Quinnapasso  was  very 
ancient.  Sequanawah  said  that  he  was  the 
oldest  Indian  in  the  world.  He  had  been  a 
famous  warrior  and  hunter  and  was  still 
greatly  respected  for  his  wisdom  and  still 
held  his  place  in  Metipom's  council.  In  spite 
of  his  age  and  feebleness  of  body,  his  eyes 
were  still  bright  and  clear  and  his  trembling 
hands  had  not  lost  their  cunning.  All  day 
long  he  sat  at  the  entrance  of  his  wigwam 
and  fashioned  pipes  of  black  and  red  and 
gray  stone,  and  thither  David  frequently 
went  and,  sitting  beside  him,  talked  a  little 
with  him  in  Nipmuck  and  watched  the  skill- 
ful way  in  which  he  chiseled  and  drilled  the 
blocks  of  porphyry  and  sandstone  brought 
to  him  by  his  grand-daughter.  Quinnapas- 
so's  pipes  were  much  sought  and  brought 
him  many  skins  and  much  wampum  and 
food.  David  became  the  recipient  of  one, 
which  he  was  loath  to  take  until  he  saw  that 
his  hesitation  was  wounding  the  old  man. 
Whereupon  he  thanked  Quinnapasso  in  halt- 
ing Nipmuck  and  the  pipe-maker  nodded 
and  grinned  and  mumbled  through  toothless 
gums. 

As  August  approached,  the  village  became 
more  busy.  The  women  set  out  in  parties  of 


1 66         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

ten  or  a  dozen  in  the  morning  and  returned 
at  night  well  laden  with  fish  which  the  next 
day  was  dried  and  cured  on  platforms  of 
boughs  beneath  which  fires  of  green  wood 
burned.  The  squaws  also  gathered  flags  for 
the  later  weaving  of  mats  and  baskets.  The 
mats  were  used  more  often  than  skins  for 
the  walls  of  their  houses.  Many  other  uses 
were  found  for  them,  and  they  were  dyed  by 
the  women  in  several  colors.  Corn  was  be- 
ginning to  tassel  and  the  squashes  —  planted 
wherever  a  pocket  of  soil  allowed  the  drop- 
ping of  the  queer  flat  seeds  —  showed  great 
yellow  blossoms.  There  was  much  work  for 
the  women,  to  whom  fell  what  cultivation 
was  done  in  the  straggling  garden  patches. 
Also,  it  became  their  duty  to  see  that  pits 
were  dug  for  the  autumn  storing  of  the  corn, 
and  to  line  them  well  with  bark.  The  men, 
it  seemed  to  David,  worked  not  at  all,  unless 
hunting  and  trapping  might  be  called  labor. 
Even  fishing  they  left  to  the  squaws.  Occa- 
sionally one  could  be  found  hammering  an 
ornament  from  a  piece  of  metal,  or,  maybe, 
fashioning  arrows  or  bows  or  spears.  As  for 
wampumpeag,  or  wampum  as  the  English 
called  it,  it  seemed  that  the  Wachoosetts 
made  none  themselves,  but  bartered  for  it 


A  FRIEND  IN  STRANGE  GUISE    167 

with  other  tribes.  As  this  money  was  made 
from  seashells  —  the  word  wampumpeag 
signifying  a  mussel  in  the  Iroquois  language 
—  it  was  doubtlessly  difficult  for  tribes  living 
inland  to  secure  material  to  work  with. 
Nevertheless  David  saw  much  of  it  and  many 
marvelous  examples  of  the  curious  and  even 
beautiful  shapes  into  which  it  was  wrought : 
those  of  birds  and  animals  and  flowers.  In 
color  it  was  usually  black  or  white,  the  black 
being  of  slightly  more  value,  but  there  were 
also  many  shades  between;  purple,  blue, 
brown,  yellow,  and  pink.  By  combining  the 
various  colors  and  shades  the  beads  were 
often  made  into  wonderful  patterns  on  belts, 
necklaces,  bracelets,  ear-links,  and  other  or- 
naments. Woosonametipom  when  royally 
bedecked  wore  a  head-dress  of  wampum  as 
well  as  a  broad  and  long  girdle  which  went 
twice  about  his  body  and  ended  in  a  fringe 
of  deer-hair  dyed  red. 

When  the  second  week  of  David's  captiv- 
ity had  merged  into  a  third,  the  village  was 
one  morning  aroused  from  its  placidness  by 
the  appearance  of  three  strange  Indians. 
Their  approach  had  been  signalled  from 
afar,  and  by  the  time  they  were  crossing  the 
open  space  between  forest  and  village  many 


1 68          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

of  the  male  inhabitants  had  gathered  to 
greet  them.  The  sun  was  yet  but  a  scant 
five  hours  above  the  horizon,  but  the  heat 
was  already  intolerable  and  the  rocky  slope 
shimmered  and  glared  as  the  naked  strangers 
drew  near.  All  were  young  men  and  all  were 
armed  and  painted  most  hideously.  One,  of 
the  three  the  more  heavy  of  build,  carried 
upon  his  back  a  bundle  wrapped  in  rush  mat- 
ting. His  companions,  taller  and  slimmer, 
bore  only  their  weapons  and  food  pouches. 
Woosonametipom,  attended  by  several  of  his 
counselors,  and  himself  decked  in  his  "  roy- 
alty "  of  embroidered  blanket  and  wampum 
head-dress  and  girdle,  awaited  the  visitors  at 
the  gate.  When  the  strangers  were  a  dozen 
paces  distant  they  paused  and  gave  saluta- 
tion. The  Wachoosetts  returned  it,  where- 
upon one  of  the  strangers  stepped  forward 
and  spoke  at  length,  addressing  his  remarks 
to  the  sachem,  but  seeming  to  include  all  his 
hearers.  He  was  listened  to  in  absolute 
silence.  David,  pressing  toward  the  gate  be- 
hind the  throng  of  young  men  and  old, 
women  and  children,  who  had  gathered  just 
inside  it,  understood  enough  of  the  brave's 
talk  to  know  that  he  was  but  declaiming  the 
usual  message  of  greeting  from  one  chief  to 


A  FRIEND  IN  STRANGE  GUISE    169 

another,  a  message  filled  with  compliments 
to  the  hearer's  wisdom  and  courage  and  no- 
bility. Yet  one  word  that  was  twice  spoken 
produced  each  time  a  ripple  of  movement 
from  the  throng  and,  or  so  David  felt,  a  cur- 
rent of  excitement.  That  word  was  Pometa- 
com. 

From  where  he  stood,  well  within  the  pali- 
sade, David  caught  but  uncertain  glimpses  of 
the  visitors  between  the  heads  of  the  group 
about  him,  for  the  gateway  was  narrow  and 
the  strangers  stood  a  little  to  one  side.  Yet 
at  times  a  painted  visage  moved  into  his  sight 
for  a  fleeting  instant  and  aroused  a  sense 
of  familiarity.  The  countenance  seemed 
strange  and  yet  dimly  known.  Above  it  a 
glistening  scalp-lock,  reeking  with  oil,  was 
wound  with  crimson  cloth  and  adorned  with 
yellow  and  blue  feathers.  A  rude  painting 
of  a  duck  was  done  in  white  on  the  man's 
forehead  and  each  cheek  held  a  crude  and 
uncertain  design  in  the  same  pigment,  while 
across  the  bridge  of  the  nose  and  beneath  the 
eyes  ran  two  stripes.  In  his  ears  were  bone 
pendants,  carved  to  strange  shapes.  He  was 
tall  and  straight  and  well-muscled,  and  bore 
himself  with  an  air  of  authority  that  well 
fitted  him.  All  this  David  could  not  see  at 


1 7o         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

the  moment.  Had  he  done  so  doubtless 
the  stirrings  of  memory  would  have  been 
stronger. 

Presently  the  spokesman,  an  Indian  of  no 
less  stature  than  he  who  had  caused  David's 
perplexity,  but  with  flatter  features  and  less 
grace  of  carriage,  ended  his  discourse.  A 
moment  of  silence  followed.  Then  Metipom 
began  to  speak.  The  sachem  had  a  deep  and 
resonant  voice  and  used  it  eloquently.  Also 
he  used  it  at  much  length,  and  David  felt 
that  his  body  was  shriveling  in  the  heat  ere 
the  sachem  ended  and  the  throng  within  the 
gate  fell  back.  David  found  himself  in  the 
front  of  the  throng  when  Metipom  and  his 
counselors  stalked  back  through  the  en- 
trance, followed  by  the  visitors,  and  hence 
was  within  arm's  reach  of  the  latter  as  they 
passed  him.  First  came  he  who  had  spoken, 
the  perspiration  standing  in  beads  upon  the 
oiled  surface  of  his  body,  his  eyes  straight 
ahead,  a  sort  of  contemptuous  dignity  upon 
him.  The  shorter  and  heavier  Indian  fol- 
lowed upon  his  heels,  a  sly-eyed,  long-headed 
youth  who  saw  much  without  seeming  to 
turn  his  gaze.  Behind  him,  lithe  with  the 
easy  grace  of  a  panther,  came  the  third  mes- 
senger. He,  too,  following  the  custom  of 


A  FRIEND  IN  STRANGE  GUISE    171 

his  people,  forbore  to  glance  to  left  or  right, 
since  all  semblance  of  curiosity  was  consid- 
ered discourteous,  until,  being  close  upon 
David,  he  for  an  instant  only  shot  a  look 
straight  into  the  boy's  eyes.  As  brief  as  it 
was,  it  said  much,  for  eyes  and  nostrils 
dilated  warningly,  and  David,  with  a  gasp 
he  could  not  smother,  recognized  beneath 
the  painted  lines  and  symbols  the  counte- 
nance of  Monapikot ! 


CHAPTER  XIV 
EMISSARIES  FROM  KING  PHILIP 

A  MOMENT  later  he  was  doubting  his  senses. 
The    visitors     had    disappeared    into    the 
sachem's    wigwam    and    the   villagers    had 
crowded  in  behind  them  or  clustered  about 
the  doorway,  and  David  was  alone  in  the  hot 
glare  of  the  sun.  Bewilderedly  he  passed  the 
edge  of  the  throng.   From  within  the  lodge 
came  the  murmur  of  a  voice.    Outside  the 
crowd  was  talking  in  low  tones.   A  percep- 
tible atmosphere  of  excitement  had  pervaded 
the  village.  But  David,  seeking  his  own  wig- 
wam, gave  little  thought  to  that.   If  the  In- 
dian was,  indeed,  Pikot,  why  was  he  there, 
an  emissary  of  the  murderous  King  Philip? 
Had  it  come  to  pass,  as  Obid  had  long  pre- 
dicted, that  Eliot's  Indians  had  forgot  their 
teachings  and  returned  to  savagery?   David 
could  believe  it  of  some,  but  never  of  Pikot ! 
Besides,  the  look  his  friend  had  given  him 
had  said,  "  Caution !  "    If  Pikot  had  really 
joined  with  Philip,  he  would  have  cared  little 
whether  David  recognized  him.    What  the 


look  had  conveyed  to  the  boy  was :  "  I  am 
Pikot,  your  friend,  but  you  must  not  know 
me.  Whatever  happens,  we  are  strangers. 
Trust  me !  "  David  drew  a  deep  breath  and 
felt  a  lightening  of  the  heart.  Whatever 
Pikot's  secret  might  be,  it  was  not  a  shame- 
ful one,  he  decided,  and  he  would  trust  him. 
Indeed,  it  might  well  be  that  Straight  Ar- 
row was  but  playing  a  part  in  order  to  rescue 
his  old  friend.  Perchance  he  had  been  dis- 
patched hither  by  the  Council  at  Boston. 
And  yet,  in  spite  of  his  resolve  to  be  trustful, 
David  revolted  at  the  recollection  of  Pikot 
oiled  and  painted  and  bedecked  for  the  war- 
path and  serving  as  a  messenger  for  that  out- 
law, Philip  of  Mount  Hope. 

Then  a  new  thought  came  to  him.  Was  it 
not  possible  that  the  embassy  from  Philip 
was  but  a  pretense,  a  means  of  entering  the 
Wachoosett  village  as  friends?  Maybe  not 
only  Pikot,  but  the  two  Indians  with  him, 
were  there  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  res- 
cue him,  David,  from  Metipom.  And  yet  the 
boy's  knowledge  of  the  Indians  told  him  be- 
yond doubt  that  neither  of  Pikot's  compan- 
ions was  Nipmuck,  but,  unless  he  was  much 
mistaken,  of  King  Philip's  own  tribe. 

His  further  ponderings  were  interrupted 


174         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

by  a  darkening  of  the  entrance,  and  John 
entered. 

"  You  come,"  he  said.    "  Great  Sachem 
say  it." 

Wondering,  David  followed  John  to  the 
big  wigwam.    Shouldering  his  way  through 
the  throng  without,  John  led  David  through 
the  door  and  into  the  softer  twilight  of  the 
lodge.  Within  was  an  unusual  scene.  Every 
available  foot  of  space  was  occupied  save  in 
the  very  center,  where,  surrounded  by  all  his 
counselors,  the  sachem  sat  with  the  three 
messengers  from  King  Philip  before  him. 
Around  this  group,  packed  like  fish  in  a  hogs- 
head, were  the  men  of  the  village,  or  so  many 
of  them  as  were  fortunate  enough  to  enter. 
The  sachem's  big  green  stone  pipe  had  been 
smoked  by  the  visitors  and  the  chief  and 
was  now  passing  from  hand  to  hand  amongst 
the  counselors.   There  was  little  talk  going 
on,  although  occasionally  Metipom  addressed 
a  question  or  a  word  to  the  guests  and  was 
briefly  answered.  David's  advent  excited  no 
attention,   and,   at   a  sign  from  John,  he 
squatted  at  the  edge  of  the  circle.  Through 
the  smoke-hole  above,  the  sun  sent  a  long 
wand  of  golden  radiance  into  the  wigwam 
in  which  the  blue  haze  of  tobacco  smoke 


EMISSARIES  FROM  KING  PHILIP    175 

wreathed  and  eddied.  The  place  was  intol- 
erably hot  and  close.  As  he  took  his  seat, 
David  glanced  surreptitiously  at  Monapikot. 
The  Pegan  was  silent  and  straight  and  mo- 
tionless, and  if  he  knew  of  David's  en- 
trance he  made  no  sign.  Between  the  guests 
and  the  sachem,  on  the  rush  mats  there,  lay 
the  bundle  they  had  brought.  For  some  rea- 
son David's  eyes  returned  to  it  again  and 
again  in  a  fascination  he  could  not  have  ex- 
plained. After  that  first  glance  he  avoided 
looking  at  Pikot  lest  sharp  eyes  should  read 
his  thoughts.  At  a  little  distance,  through 
the  smoke  haze,  he  saw  Sequanawah,  and, 
in  the  background,  the  ancient  Quinnapasso, 
the  latter  apparently  taking  advantage  of  the 
ceremonial  silence  to  snatch  a  few  winks  of 
sleep.  David,  wondering  for  what  reason  he 
had  been  summoned,  waited  seemingly  un- 
perturbed, but  secretly  much  concerned. 

At  last  the  peace  pipe  completed  its  jour- 
ney and  was  returned  to  the  sachem,  who 
laid  it  carefully  on  the  floor  at  his  feet.  Then 
he  pointed  to  the  spokesman  of  the  embassy. 
"  You  talk,"  he  said. 

Obediently  the  Indian  arose,  cast  a  slow 
look  about  the  wigwam,  and  then,  facing  the 
sachem,  spoke.  Much  of  what  he  said  was 


i76         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

well  beyond  David's  understanding,  for  not 
only  did  he  speak  the  native  language,  but 
he  used  many  words  having  no  place  in  the 
Nipmuck  tongue.  Nevertheless,  the  boy 
comprehended  the  tenor  of  what  he  said. 

The  spokesman's  name  was  Wissataum- 
kin,  and  he  proclaimed  himself  a  Narragan- 
sett  and  one  who  stood  close  to  his  sachem, 
Quananchett,  son  of  Miantunnomoh.  With 
him,  he  said,  were  Tamanso,  son  of  Nowa- 
powett,  and  nephew  of  King  Philip,  and 
Wompatannawa,  a  Niantic  captain.  At  the 
latter  name  he  indicated  Monapikot.  The 
Great  Sachem,  King  Philip,  had  sent  them 
to  tell  his  brothers,  the  Wachoosett  people, 
how  went  his  war  against  the  English  and 
for  what  reasons  that  war  was  being  waged. 
Thereupon  Wissataumkin  told  of  Philip's 
grievances  against  the  colonists,  and  a  very 
strong  case  indeed  did  he  make.  He  accused 
the  English  of  disregarding  written  treaties 
and  of  violating  spoken  promises.  He  re- 
ferred to  the  execution  of  Poggapanossoo, 
otherwise  Tobias,  Philip's  counselor,  and 
two  others  for  the  killing  of  John  Sassamon. 
He  said  that  since  Philip  had  made  war  the 
English  had  preyed  on  women  and  children, 
arresting  all  they  could  lay  hands  on  and 


EMISSARIES  FROM  KING  PHILIP    177 

taking  them  into  captivity :  and  that  unless 
their  hand  was  stayed  they  would  send  them 
across  the  great  water  as  slaves.  Then  he 
told  of  battles  fought;  of  how  Philip  had 
met  with  and  defeated  many  Englishmen 
at  Pocasset,  of  the  battle  in  the  swamp  .be- 
side the  Taunton  River  where  countless  of 
the  enemy  had  been  slain,  of  his  attack  on 
Mendon  and  the  ambush  at  Quaboag.  Ac- 
cording to  the  narrator,  King  Philip  had  been 
everywhere  victorious  and  the  English  were 
in  terror  and  in  all  places  falling  back  on 
their  forts.  Before  the  leaves  were  off  the 
trees,  declared  Wissataumkin,  not  one  white 
man  would  be  left.  The  Narragansetts  and 
the  Nipmucks  to  the  south  had  joined  with 
the  Great  Sachem  Philip.  Woosonametipom 
and  his  people  were  also  Nipmucks,  and  now 
Philip  bade  them  choose  whether  they  would 
fight  with  him  or  against  him.  Soon  the  war 
would  come  to  their  country,  and  those  who 
were  not  with  Philip  would  be  considered 
against  him.  What  word  should  he  carry 
back  to  his  chief? 

When  Wissataumkin  had  ceased,  Meti- 
pom,  who  had  listened  gravely  and  in  silence, 
spoke.  "  What  you  say  may  be  true,  O  Wis- 
sataumkin, but  we  have  heard  other  tales. 


178          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

We  have  heard  that  the  English  have  killed 
many  of  Philip's  warriors  and  taken  many 
prisoners.  We  care  little  for  the  English, 
although  we  have  long  remained  at  peace 
with  them.  Nor  is  Philip's  quarrel  our  quar- 
rel unless  we  make  it  so.  We  go  not  to  war 
at  any  man's  ordering.  Yet  it  seems  that 
our  people  have  been  patient  under  many 
wrongs  inflicted  by  these  white-faces  and  it 
may  be  that,  as  you  have  said,  the  time  has 
come  to  drive  them  forth  from  our  fields  and 
forests,  that  peace  and  prosperity  may  return 
once  more  to  us.  I,  too,  have  suffered  wrong, 
for  these  same  English  did  seize  my  son, 
Nausauwah,  for  no  cause  and  do  now  hold 
him  prisoner  in  their  town  of  Boston.  And 
yet  to  take  up  Philip's  quarrel  may  not  be 
wise,  for  the  English  fight  with  guns  and  we 
have  but  few,  and  against  powder  and  lead 
the  arrow  is  weak.  I  would  take  counsel,  my 
brothers.  By  sunset  you  shall  have  my 
answer.  Until  then  my  house  is  yours,  and 
all  that  is  mine  is  for  you  to  partake  of." 

"  I  hear,  O  Sachem,"  answered  Wissa- 
taumkin.  "  May  your  council  be  wise.  As 
to  that  Philip's  warriors  have  been  killed 
and  made  prisoners,  why,  that  is  but  an  Eng- 
lish lie.  None  dare  stand  but  a  moment's 


EMISSARIES  FROM  KING  PHILIP    179 

time  against  him.  In  battle  his  enemies  fall 
before  him  like  rushes  before  the  knife.  His 
wigwams  are  decked  with  the  heads  of  the 
foes.  For  token,  O  Woosonametipom,  he 
sends  you  these  gifts." 

He  gestured  to  Tamanso  and  the  latter 
drew  his  knife  from  his  belt  and  cut  the  lash- 
ings about  the  bundle  that  lay  before  him. 
Slowly,  dramatically,  he  unrolled  the  rush 
matting  while  all  within  the  wigwam  craned 
their  heads  to  see.  And  then,  gruesome  and 
horrid,  there  lay  to  the  gaze  two  dried  and 
withered  human  heads. 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  SACHEM  DECIDES 

A  SIBILANT  sound,  the  indrawing  of  many 
breaths,  passed  about  the  wigwam.  David, 
after  a  first  horrified  look  at  the  awful  tro- 
phies, closed  his  eyes  against  the  sight,  faint 
and  sick.  For  an  instant  the  scene  rocked 
and  swayed  about  him  and  he  stretched  forth 
a  groping  hand  for  support.  Then  the  tremor 
passed  and  a  great  and  suffocating  anger 
swelled  within  him,  and  he  opened  his  eyes 
again  to  see  Metipom  leaning  forward  above 
the  heads,  his  countenance  set  in  a  grim  and 
baleful  smile.  Wissataumkin,  on  his  feet, 
looked  down  triumphantly.  The  flat-faced 
Tamanso  had  the  air  of  a  conjuror  after  a 
successful  trick.  Him  they  called  Wompa- 
tannawa,  alone  of  the  three  emissaries, 
showed  no  emotion.  Very  straight  he  sat,  his 
gaze  fixed  levelly  over  the  heads  of  the 
throng. 

At  sight  of  Monapikot,  David's  wrath 
overflowed  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  one  out- 
stretched hand  pointing  accusingly  at  the 
Pegan. 


"  Traitor  and  renegade ! "  he  cried. 
"  This  is  your  gratitude,  then,  this  your  re- 
turn for  our  trust  and  friendship !  Mayhap 
those  be  fruit  of  your  treachery,  Monapikot! 
Which  of  your  benefactors  have  you  slain? 
Wompatannawa  you  call  yourself?  Hear  a 
fitter  name :  Murderer !  You  who  —  " 

Two  braves  beside  him,  at  a  sign  from 
Metipom,  seized  him  and  bore  him,  strug- 
gling, to  the  ground.  His  torrent  of  anger 
ceased  only  when  a  knife  touched  his  throat, 
and  then,  trembling,  hot  tears  in  his  eyes, 
he  gave  in. 

"  You  no  talk,"  said  one  of  the  Indians 
grimly. 

David  swallowed  hard,  nodded,  and,  after 
a  moment,  muttered,  "  Winnet."  When  he 
looked,  the  sachem  was  addressing  Monapi- 
kot. None,  it  seemed,  had  heeded  his  out- 
burst. Perhaps  for  the  few  who  knew  any 
English,  save  Monapikot,  his  words  had 
flowed  too  fast  to  be  understood.  When  the 
pounding  of  blood  in  his  head  would  allow, 
he  strove  to  hear  what  the  Pegan  was  saying 
to  Metipom,  for  the  former  had  arisen  to 
his  feet  and  was  speaking  in  Nipmuck. 

"  I  know  him  not,  Woosonametipom,  nor 
ever  saw  him.  Nor  do  I  know  how  it  happens 


182         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

that  an  Englishman's  cub  is  present  at  this 
conference.  Where  I  come  from,  Great  Sa- 
chem, we  do  not  invite  the  enemy  to  our 
councils." 

There  was  a  murmur  about  the  wigwam, 
and  Metipom  scowled.  "  Since  when,  O 
Wompatannawa,  have  the  Niantic  people, 
who  no  longer  make  laws  of  their  own,  but 
follow  the  mandates  of  the  Narragansetts  as 
a  dog  follows  its  master,  begun  to  teach  wis- 
dom to  others?  "  he  asked  haughtily. 

"  The  dog  that  is  faithful  bites  its  mas- 
ter's enemies,  O  Sachem,"  replied  the  Pegan 
meaningly. 

"  And  the  dog  who  knows  no  master 
minds  his  own  affairs,"  said  Metipom.  "  My 
people  eat  from  no  one's  hand,  O  Young 
Man  Wise  Beyond  Your  Years.  Nor  do 
they  come  or  go  at  any's  bidding.  The 
Wachoosetts  owe  no  allegiance  to  Philip. 
Nor  do  they  bite  without  cause.  If  there  be 
cause  now  we  shall  see."  He  turned  to  Wis- 
sataumkin.  "  Food  shall  be  prepared  for  you. 
May  it  do  you  much  good.  At  sunset  you 
shall  have  my  answer." 

The  emissaries  from  Philip  arose  and  went 
out  and  all  save  the  counselors  followed. 
David,  too,  would  have  departed,  but  the 


THE  SACHEM  DECIDES        183 

sachem  ordered  him  stayed,  and  presently 
the  powwow  was  making  talk  with  him. 

"  Great  Sachem  say  what  for  you  speak 
Niantic  man?  "  he  asked.  "  You  know  um 
maybe?  " 

David  hesitated.  Then :  "  I  do  not  know 
him.  Anger  caused  me  to  speak." 

"  What  for  you  angry  with  him,  David?  " 

David  pointed  at  the  withered  heads  at 
his  feet.  "  Those,  O  Wise  Powwow,  are  the 
heads  of  my  people.  This  man  Wompatan- 
nawa  is  my  enemy.  Does  not  one  feel  anger 
at  his  enemy?  " 

The  medicine  man  translated  the  reply  to 
the  sachem,  and  the  latter  grunted.  Then : 

'  These  men  say  King  Philip  makes  war 
on  the  English  and  everywhere  defeats  um. 
Say  they  run  away  like  foxes  before  dogs. 
What  you  think?  " 

"  I  think  they  lie.  Say  to  the  Great  Sa- 
chem that  the  English  do  not  run  from  their 
enemies.  They  stand  and  fight.  If  they  are 
killed,  they  are  killed.  But  they  do  not  re- 
treat. Therefore  the  tale  these  men  have 
told  is  false  to  that  extent.  And  if  they  lie 
of  one  thing,  why  not  of  all?  Before  I  was 
brought  here  the  Nipmucks  and  the  Narra- 
gansetts  had  given  their  word  to  the  English 


1 84          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

to  remain  their  friends."  David  hoped  that 
this  was  true,  but  did  not  know  it.  "  It  may 
be  that  a  few  have  dishonored  that  promise, 
but  a  few  only.  Say  to  the  Great  Sachem  that 
there  can  be  but  one  outcome  of  a  war  be- 
tween the  English  and  the  Indians,  and  that 
when,  as  it  will  be,  the  English  are  victorious, 
then  much  trouble  will  come  for  all  who  have 
shown  themselves  their  enemies.  The  Eng- 
lish have  many  guns  that  shoot  farther  than 
an  arrow  can  fly,  and  many  horses  where- 
with they  can  outdistance  the  fleetest  run- 
ner. They  are  many  and  the  Indians  few. 
If  the  Wachoosetts  take  arms  against  them, 
many  years  of  sorrow  will  follow." 

During  David's  words  Metipom  kept  his 
eyes  on  the  boy's  face  as  though  seeking  to 
read  what  thoughts  lay  behind  it.  And  when 
the  powwow  had  again  translated,  the  sa- 
chem was  silent  a  moment,  his  gaze  on  the 
ghastly  tokens  before  him.  Finally  he  raised 
his  eyes  to  David  and  pointed  at  the  heads. 

"What  of  those?  "  he  asked  in  his  own 
tongue. 

4<  I  have  not  said,  O  Sachem,  that  none  of 
my  countrymen  have  been  killed.  Doubtless 
a  few  have  fallen  and  a  few  are  prisoners. 
But  said  these  messengers  from  Philip  how 


THE  SACHEM  DECIDES        185 

many  Indians  have  been  killed?  My  hand 
has  two  sides,  and  so  has  every  tale." 

Metipom  thrust  his  lower  lip  forth,  shot  a 
calculating  glance  at  David  and  nodded.  So, 
too,  did  some  of  the  counselors:  and  one 
spoke.  It  was  the  aged  Quinnapasso. 

"The  White  Boy  talks  wise  talk,"  he 
quavered.  "  If  Philip  conquers,  why  does  he 
seek  our  help,  Woosonametipom?  " 

At  that  many  grunted  and  several  spoke 
together  until  the  sachem  bade  them  be 
silent.  "  Tell  him  to  be  gone,"  he  said,  point- 
ing at  David.  "  Tell  him  we  will  weigh  what 
he  has  said." 

Outside,  David  drew  a  long  breath  of  re- 
lief, thankful  to  be  away  from  the  mournful 
sight  of  Philip's  tokens.  As  he  sought  his 
wigwam,  he  strove  to  solve  the  puzzling  mys- 
tery of  Monapikot's  apparent  defection. 
Now  that  his  spasm  of  anger  had  passed, 
something  of  his  former  belief  in  his  friend 
returned.  After  all,  the  heads  proved  nothing 
one  way  or  another.  And  although  Pikot's 
words  to  Metipom  had  seemed  to  encourage 
the  sachem  to  take  sides  with  Philip,  yet  it 
might  be  that  they  had  been  meant  to  have 
the  other  effect,  to  arouse  in  him  a  spirit  of 
obstinacy.  Metipom  was  proud  and  self- 


1 86         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

willed,  and  might  well  resent  dictation.  And 
Pikot's  bearing  had  warmed  David's  old  af- 
fection as,  straight  and  dignified  and  proudly 
contemptuous,  he  had  dared  the  sachem's 
anger.  In  the  wigwam  David  threw  himself 
on  his  bed  of  skins  and,  with  his  hands  be- 
neath his  head,  gazed  at  the  hot,  sun-smitten 
roof  above  him  and  tried  to  find  an  answer 
to  the  riddle.  After  a  while  the  old  squaw 
pattered  in  and  would  have  made  a  fire,  but 
David,  far  from  hungry,  drove  her  forth, 
chattering,  into  the  sunlight. 

The  heat  put  him  to  sleep  at  last,  and  when 
he  awoke  an  hour  or  more  later  John  was 
squatting  beside  him,  his  pipe  between  his 
lips.  David  lay  a  minute  and  watched  the 
Indian's  face  and  wondered  what  thoughts 
were  passing  behind  that  mask-like  counte- 
nance. Presently,  sighing  for  weariness  of 
the  heat,  David  drew  the  Indian's  regard, 
and  the  latter  turned  his  grave  eyes  toward 
the  boy. 

"  Much  hot,"  he  grunted. 

"  Aye,  John.  Have  Philip's  messengers 
departed  yet?  " 

The  Indian  shook  his  head  and  pointed 
his  pipe-stem  toward  the  sky.  *'  Sun  um 
high.  No  go  so.  Bimeby." 


THE  SACHEM  DECIDES        187 

"But  —  what  time  of  the  day  is  it?" 
asked  David  perplexedly.  "  I  thought  —  " 
His  gaze  encountered  the  glare  outside  the 
entrance  and  he  remembered  and  groaned. 
"Tis  yet  but  early  afternoon,"  he  said. 
"  Hast  heard  what  decision  Metipom  and  his 
council  will  reach?  " 

John  could  not  comprehend  that  and  Da- 
vid turned  it  into  his  halting  Nipmuck. 

Then :  "  Nay,"  answered  John,  "  they  still 
talk.  Their  voices  sound  like  the  cawing  of 
many  crows  in  the  spring.  The  young  men 
say  one  thing  and  the  old  men  another,  and 
the  Great  Sachem  sits  and  smokes  his  pipe 
and  listens." 

"  What  say  the  young  men,  brother?  * 

John  cast  a  quick  glance  from  the  corners 
of  his  half-shut  eyes  and  his  lips  drew  back 
at  their  corners  in  a  snarling  grin.  "  War !  " 
he  answered. 

"Against  the  English?"  David  laughed 
shortly.  "  'Tis  evident  that  their  choice  is 
also  yours,  O  Blind  One." 

John  muttered  words  that  the  other  could 
not  catch.  Then :  "  I  am  not  so  blind  but 
that  I  can  see  my  enemy,"  he  answered, 
frowning. 

"  The  fox  who  fled  from  the  sound  ran  into 


i88          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

the  trap.    What  you  think  is  an  enemy  is 
but  a  noise  made  by  King  Philip." 

"  He  is  a  great  warrior  and  a  sachem  of 
much  wisdom." 

"  A  great  warrior  he  may  be,"  said  Da- 
vid, "  but  his  wisdom  is  that  of  a  gnat." 

John  scowled  and  muttered. 

"  Philip  has  followed  the  advice  of  a  few 
malcontents,  and  now,  having  declared  war 
and  finding  his  mistake,  he  seeks  help  of  the 
great  Metipom.  The  fox  who  fell  into  the 
pitfall  called  on  the  bear  to  help  him.  So 
the  bear  jumped  into  the  hole  and  the  fox 
climbed  out  on  his  back.  Whereupon  the 
bear  called  to  him  and  asked :  *  And  in  what 
manner  do  I  escape,  Master  Fox? '  And  the 
fox  answered:  'Why,  that  Brother  Bear,  is 
a  thing  concerns  me  not.  I  bid  you  good- 
day!'" 

"  You  speak  for  your  people,"  grumbled 
John.  "  I  speak  for  mine.  When  the  wind 
blows  two  ways  there  is  only  dust." 

"  Until  one  wind  becomes  the  stronger,  O 
Brother.  Then  the  dust  vanishes  and  wise 
counsel  prevails." 

The  Wachoosett  grunted.  "  My  brother 
has  many  words,"  he  replied  dryly,  and  re- 
lapsed into  silence. 


THE  SACHEM  DECIDES        189 

Presently  the  heat  became  intolerable 
within  the  wigwam,  and  David  fared  forth. 
About  one  of  the  lodges  near  the  center  of 
the  village  many  men  were  gathered,  and 
amongst  them  David  saw,  as  he  drew  near, 
Pikot  and  his  two  companions.  They  sat  a 
little  apart,  each  smoking  gravely,  and  tak- 
ing no  part  in  the  talk  that  was  going  on. 
Most  of  those  in  the  gathering  were  younger 
men,  although  here  and  there  one  beyond 
fighting  age  hearkened  to  the  discussion. 
David  paused  a  little  from  the  edge  of  the 
throng  and  sought  to  catch  Pikot's  eye,  but 
while  the  Pegan  must  have  been  aware  of 
his  presence  he  never  so  much  as  glanced  the 
boy's  way,  and  after  a  moment,  since  the 
Indians  began  to  regard  him  with  disfavor, 
he  went  on. 

From  within  the  big  wigwam  of  the  sa- 
chem came  the  sound  of  a  voice,  quavering, 
monotonous,  and  David  recognized  it  for 
the  voice  of  Quinnapasso.  As  the  boy  passed 
beyond,  the  voice  died  away  and  in  its  place 
came  the  deeper  speech  of  another. 

David  found  a  place  of  shade  near  the 
gate  of  the  palisade  and  stretched  himself 
down,  and  after  a  moment  one  of  the  yellow 
village  dogs  crept  toward  him,  wagging  an 


I9o         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

ingratiating  tail,  and  the  boy  for  loneliness 
called  the  sorry  creature  to  him  and  patted 
him,  at  which  the  dog,  surprised  as  delighted 
with  such  uncommon  kindness,  licked  his 
hand  and  curled  up  against  his  body. 

Slowly  the  sun  neared  the  western  slope 
of  the  hill  and  the  heat  diminished,  and  Da- 
vid thought  of  food.   The  council  yet  con- 
tinued and  the  gathering  near  by  was  larger 
than  before,  with   many  squaws   standing 
about  the  fringe.  Finding  John,  David  made 
known  his  desire  for  food,  and  then  seated 
himself  in  the  shade  of  the  lodge  to  await 
the  arrival  of  the  old  crone.   And  while  he 
sat  there  there  came  a  stirring  in  the  village 
and  a  youth  shouted  shrilly,  and  the  cry 
was  taken  up  by  others.    Then  an  Indian 
drum  began  to  sound,    and  David,  having 
arisen  to  look,  saw  a  dozen  or  more  of  the 
younger  men  stepping  about  in  a  wide  circle 
in  ridiculous  postures  while  the  older  men 
stood  by  applauding  with  shouts  and  ges- 
tures.   But  the  women  had  hurried  to  their 
houses,  and  now  David  saw  them  dragging 
their  goods  outside  the  doors.  The  drum 
went  on  monotonously  and  the  boys,  pranc- 
ing and  chanting  in  high  voices,  formed  in 
line  and  went  weaving  in  and  out  between  the 


THE  SACHEM  DECIDES        191 

wigwams.  David  did  not  need  the  triumph 
in  John's  face  to  tell  him  what  decision  the 
sachem  and  his  counselors  had  arrived  at. 
The  Indian  came  striding  toward  him 
swiftly,  his  eyes  sparkling. 

"  The  Great  Sachem  has  spoken,"  he  an- 
nounced proudly.  "  We  make  war  on  your 
people,  O  White  Brother." 

David  nodded  indifferently.  Then:  "I 
am  sorry,"  he  said.  "  The  Fox  has  had  his 
way." 

When  John  had  gone  again  and  the  old 
squaw  was  busied  over  David's  meal,  Se- 
quanawah  came.  Silently  he  seated  himself 
near  by  and  dropped  tobacco  into  his  pipe. 
When  it  was  lighted  and  drawing  he  asked 
soberly:  "  My  brother  has  heard?  " 

"  Aye,  Sequanawah." 

The  Indian  smoked  for  a  long  moment. 
At  last:  "Battle  is  good,"  he  went  on. 
"  Peace,  too,  is  good.  I  do  not  know." 

"  I  wish  your  sachem  had  decided  other- 
wise," said  David  sadly.  "  The  English  are 
too  strong,  Sequanawah,  and  when  the  war 
is  past  your  tribe  will  suffer  with  the  rest. 
I  am  sorry." 

Sequanawah  bowed.  "  My  brother  speaks 
what  he  believes  is  truth.  He  may  be  right. 


192          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

The  medicine  men  say  not  so.  Their  omens 
foretell  great  victories,  David." 

"  That  we  shall  see,  O  Sequanawah.  But 
I  grieve  that  this  thing  must  come  between 
my  brother  and  me." 

The  Wachoosett  bowed  again  and  looked 
troubled.  "  Sequanawah  sorrows,  too,  O  Da- 
vid. His  heart  is  sad."  He  emptied  his  pipe 
and  arose.  "  Farewell,  brother." 

"  So  soon,  Sequanawah  ?  You  take  the 
trail  to-night?  " 

"  I  know  not  at  what  hour,  but  ere  morn- 
ing I  shall  be  gone.  Farewell." 

Sequanawah  turned  and  departed  against 
the  lingering  glow  of  the  sunset  and  passed 
from  David's  sight.  The  old  squaw  grum- 
bled that  his  food  was  ready  and  he  bade  her 
bring  it  forth  to  him  there.  While  he  ate, 
the  preparations  for  leaving  went  forward 
busily,  and  presently,  as  twilight  came,  a 
great  fire  flared  before  the  sachem's  lodge 
and  more  drums  beat,  and  painted  braves, 
feathered  and  grotesque  in  the  dancing  light 
of  the  flames,  circled  and  howled  and  groaned 
and  shook  their  spears  to  the  purpling,  star- 
pricked  sky. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
MONAPIKOT'S  MESSAGE 

FAR  into  the  night  the  war-dance  continued. 
As  men  tired  and  dropped  from  the  circle 
that  revolved  about  the  leaping  fire,  others 
took  their  places.  Squaws,  seated  together 
near  at  hand,  cried  their  warriors  on  to  fresh 
exertions.  Old  men  nodded  and  watched  and 
grunted  approval,  their  rheumy  eyes  bright- 
ening again  with  memories.  Medicine  men, 
wearing  their  choicest  ornaments,  hideously 
besmeared  from  forehead  to  ankle,  capered 
and  chanted  like  evil  things  seen  in  a  dream. 
And  beneath  the  songs  and  wild  cries,  the 
steady,  unvarying  tum-tum-tum  of  the 
drums  sounded  as  sounds  the  beat  of  the 
waves  under  the  tumult  of  the  tempest. 

David  watched  from  afar.  He  had  no 
taste  for  such  ceremonies,  nor  any  sympathy. 
He  had  grown  to  appreciate  many  attributes 
of  the  Indians ;  their  bravery  and  hardihood, 
their  honesty  in  their  dealings  with  each 
other,  their  faithfulness  in  friendship;  but 
this  childish  orgy  by  which  they  lashed  them- 
selves to  a  frenzy  of  bloodthirstiness,  this 


i94          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

recitation  of  boastful  legends  and  vain 
threatenings,  left  him  cold.  To  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  mind  there  was  something  akin  to 
lunacy  in  such  doings. 

David  wondered  if  Monapikot  and  his 
two  unpleasing  companions  had  left  on  their 
homeward  journey.  It  seemed  likely,  al- 
though once,  near  the  middle  of  the  evening, 
he  had  thought  that  he  had  glimpsed  the  tall, 
straight  form  of  the  Pegan  against  the  fire- 
light. That  Pikot  should  go  without  a  few 
words  of  speech  with  him  seemed  strange. 
It  would  not  have  been  impossible  for  the 
Indian  to  have  spoken  briefly  under  some 
pretext,  and  David  felt  resentful  and  sad  be- 
cause he  had  not  done  so.  To-night  it  be- 
came easy  once  more  to  believe  that  his  old 
friend  had  indeed  turned  traitor. 

John  had  deserted  his  charge  utterly  and 
was  prancing  and  bending  and  howling 
about  the  fire.  Sequanawah  had  vanished, 
but  whether  he  had  left  the  village  David 
did  not  know.  Thoughts  of  escape  came  to 
him  and  he  weighed  the  chances  of  success. 
Many  times  he  had  wondered  whether  by 
scaling  the  palisade  wall  he  could  evade  the 
watchfulness  of  the  sentries.  Reaching  the 
top  of  the  wall  would  be  no  easy  feat,  for 


MONAPIKOT'S  MESSAGE        195 

the  smooth,  peeled  logs  that  formed  it  were 
a  good  twelve  feet  in  height.  Yet  he  had  ob- 
served places  where,  he  thought,  he  might 
take  advantage  of  crevice  and  protrusion 
with  hands  and  feet  and  so  win  the  summit. 
Beyond  the  palisade  lay  a  dry  ditch  of  no 
great  consequence.  It  would  but  increase 
his  drop  by  another  two  or  three  feet.  Sur- 
mounting the  wall  was,  he  believed,  possible 
under  favoring  circumstances  such  as  at 
present  pertained,  but  the  question  was  what 
would  happen  afterwards.  He  had  learned 
long  since  that  by  night  the  village  was  well 
guarded.  And  he  knew,  too,  that  Metipom 
had  ordained  his  death  if  captured  outside 
the  palisade.  To-night  it  might  be  that,  with 
every  man  of  fighting  age  apparently  taking 
part  in  the  dance,  the  sentries  had  been 
withdrawn,  but  it  would  not  do  to  count  too 
much  on  that.  On  the  other  hand,  the  deci- 
sion for  war  might  well  have  caused  them  to 
increase  their  vigilance.  In  any  case,  David 
decided,  action  was  best  delayed  until  the 
village  had  quieted  for  the  night  and  the  ex- 
hausted Indians  slept.  A  new  moon  hung 
in  the  western  sky,  giving  a  faint  radiance 
where  the  ruddy  light  of  the  flames  failed. 
In  two  hours,  maybe,  or  three  at  the  most, 


196         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

the  moon  would  be  below  the  elbow  of  the 
mountain  and  his  chance  of  getting  away 
unseen  would  be  better. 

After  a  while  he  lay  down  where  he  was, 
against  the  side  of  the  wigwam,  resolved  to 
snatch  what  sleep  he  might  before  the  time 
for  action  came,  if  come  it  should.  For  a 
time  he  lay  and  watched  the  silver  stars  and 
strove  to  close  his  ears  to  the  throbbing  of 
the  drums  and  the  howling  of  the  Indians. 
Gradually  sleep  settled  over  his  tired  body 
and  his  breathing  grew  deep  and  slow.  An 
hour  of  the  hot,  breathless  night  passed. 
Occasionally  the  sleeper  stirred  or  moaned, 
but  he  did  not  wake.  And  so  it  was  that  he 
did  not  hear  the  faint,  stealthy  movements 
that  might  have  attracted  his  attention  had 
he  been  awake.  From  behind  the  wigwam 
they  came,  sounds  like  the  soft  squirming  of 
a  serpent  across  the  tufts  of  sun-parched 
grass  and  through  the  low  patches  of  briars, 
sounds  no  louder  than  a  weasel  might  have 
made,  and  that,  subdued  by  the  noise  of  the 
drums  and  the  dancers,  might  well  have  es- 
caped any  save  the  keenest  ears.  Behind  the 
wigwam,  away  from  the  dancing,  flickering 
light  of  the  fire,  the  darkness  was  not  black, 
but  yet  was  deep  enough  to  render  uncertain 


MONAPIKOT'S  MESSAGE        197 

the  shadow  that  lay  upon  the  ground  there 
and  moved  slowly  nearer  and  nearer.  Then, 
presently,  the  moving  shadow  merged  with 
that  of  the  lodge  and  the  faint  sounds  ceased. 

David  came  slowly  awake,  floating  to  con- 
sciousness across  the  margin  of  sleep  as  a 
swimmer  floats  to  shore.  Something  had 
summoned  him,  but  he  knew  not  what. 
Above  the  stars  still  twinkled  in  a  sky  that 
was  like  a  close-hanging  curtain  of  warm 
purple-black  velvet.  The  slender  moon  had 
halved  the  distance  to  the  dark  fringe  of 
forest  and  crags  that  marked  the  edge  of  the 
mountain.  But  the  uncanny  beat  of  the 
drums  and  thud  of  feet  and  howling  of  voices 
still  went  on.  David  blinked  and  yawned, 
vaguely  disturbed,  and  then  listened  acutely. 
From  the  half-darkness  came  a  sibilant 
voice : 

"David!" 

With  a  quick  leap  of  his  pulse  the  boy 
answered : 

"  I  am  here!  Who  speaks  my  name?  " 

"  Monapikot." 

"  Monapikot !  "  There  was  no  disguising 
the  gladness  he  felt. 

"  Aye,  Noawama.  Speak  softly.  Are  you 
outside?  " 


198          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  Aye,  Straight  Arrow.  And  you  ?  I  do 
not  see  you." 

"  I,  too.  Go  inside  the  wigwam  and  lie 
close  to  the  wall  at  its  back  and  farthest 
from  the  fire.  I  have  many  things  to  say 
and  there  is  little  time." 

David  obeyed.  At  the  nearer  lodge  an 
elderly  squaw  sat  motionless  by  the  door- 
way, a  child  slumbering  against  her  knees. 
None  others  were  near.  Placing  himself  so 
that  his  lips  were  close  to  the  rancid-smelling 
skins  of  the  wigwam,  David  said:  "I  am 
here,  Pikot." 

"  Good,"  replied  the  other  softly.  "  Listen 
well,  David.  When  the  moon  is  behind  the 
hill  we  start  our  journey  back  to  the  south- 
ward, and  ere  that  much  must  be  said.  You 
did  well  to  seem  not  to  know  me  when  I 
came,  but  what  happened  after  was  child's 
foolishness,  David,  and  might  have  cost  me 
my  life." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  David  humbly.  "  And 
yet,  my  friend,  I  scarce  knew  what  to  think. 
Nor  do  I  yet."  He  paused,  seeking  to  ask  a 
question  and  yet  at  a  loss  for  words  to  clothe 
it  in.  At  last:  "  Is  — is  all  well?  "  he  fal- 
tered. 

"  Aye.    I  bring  you  greetings  from  your 


MONAPIKOT'S  MESSAGE        199 

father.  In  this  way  matters  stand,  David. 
The  Wachoosett  sachem  demands  the  release 
of  his  son  as  the  price  of  your  return,  but  so 
skillfully  has  he  spoken  that  none  dare  say 
for  certain  that  he  holds  you  captive.  It  is, 
he  says,  Manitou  who  will  bring  you  back 
safe  to  your  home  so  soon  as  he  is  pleased 
by  the  release  of  Nausauwah.  He  talked 
slyly  of  knowing  your  place  of  captivity  by 
reason  of  a  vision,  and  so  well  did  he  play  the 
fox  that  your  father  and  Master  Vernham 
returned  not  knowing  whether  he  told  the 
truth  or  not." 

"  Then  my  father  did  come  for  me, 
Pikot?  "  asked  David  eagerly. 

"  Aye,  with  Master  William  Vernham  and 
Obid,  the  servant,  and  Captain  Consadine, 
of  the  Military  at  Newtowne." 

"  And  an  Indian,  Pikot.  Was  it  you?  " 

"Nay;  I  was  to  the  south  and  knew 
naught  of  your  going  until  later.  The  guide 
was  Tanopet." 

"Tanopet!" 

"  Aye.  But  we  waste  time  that  stands  not 
still.  Your  father  and  Master  Vernham  and 
others  have  sought  to  secure  the  release  of 
Nausauwah,  but  with  no  avail.  Promises 
have  been  made,  but  naught  is  done.  The 


200          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

war  against  Philip  engages  much  attention 
and  all  else,  it  seems,  must  wait.  But  if 
they  do  not  give  the  Indian  his  freedom, 
neither  do  they  bring  him  to  trial,  and  until 
then  you  are  safe,  David." 

"  Safe !  Then  you  did  not  come  to  rescue 
me,  Pikot?  " 

"  Not  yet.  Other  duties  lie  before  me, 
Noawama,  that  I  cannot  tell  of.  But  keep  a 
brave  heart  and  a  still  tongue.  Soon  I  will 
come  again." 

"My  father?  And  Obid?  " 

"  Well,  David.  Your  father  troubles  over 
your  prisonment  and  that  there  is  naught 
he  can  yet  do  to  end  it.  But  now  that  the 
Wachoosetts  go  upon  the  war-path,  that  is 
changed,  and  fear  of  offending  them  will  no 
longer  hold  him  back.  While  Woosonameti- 
pom  was  still  at  peace  with  the  English,  the 
Council  at  Boston  would  not  allow  aught 
that  might  seem  unfriendly." 

"  But  how  comes  it  that  you  are  here  on 
such  a  strange  mission,  Straight  Arrow?  I 
never  thought  to  see  you  inciting  our  ene- 
mies against  us.  If  you  came  not  to  seek 
me,  I  do  not  understand." 

"Said  I  that  I  did  not  come  seeking  you, 
David?  Nay,  I  but  said  that  not  yet  could  I 


MONAPIKOT'S  MESSAGE       201 

deliver  you  from  the  sachem.  Larger  mat- 
ters come  first.  As  for  the  company  I  keep, 
heed  it  not.  Who  visits  the  wolf  must  wear 
fur.  Trust  me,  Noawama,  as  your  people 
do." 

"  I  do  trust  you,  Straight  Arrow.  Tell  me 
how  goes  the  war  with  King  Philip  ?  " 

"  Well  and  ill.  The  Narragansetts  have 
joined  with  him,  as  have  a  few  of  the  Nip- 
mucks  living  to  the  south,  but  the  Mohegans 
have  sent  warriors  to  our  aid  led  by  Oneko, 
son  of  Uncas.  Of  late  Philip  was  driven 
into  a  swamp  beside  the  Taunton  River  and, 
had  the  English  attacked  with  skill  as  well 
as  bravery  and  pressed  close,  he  would  have 
been  there  and  then  destroyed.  But,  seeking 
to  starve  him  out,  they  withdrew  all  but  a 
few  soldiers,  and  he  soon  found  canoes  and 
slipped  away  across  the  river  and  into  the 
Nipmuck  country  where  he  daily  gathers 
more  warriors  to  his  cause." 

"  It  would  seem  that  some  one  blun- 
dered," mused  David. 

"Aye,"  agreed  Pikot  grimly.  "And  the 
blunder  may  cost  dear,  for  now  Philip  no 
longer  has  the  sea  at  his  back,  but  may  come 
and  go  as  he  chooses,  with  the  forests  to 
lurk  in.  But  it  grows  late,  Noawama,  and  I 


202         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

must  be  away.  Keep  a  brave  heart  and  put 
your  trust  in  God." 

"  And  you  will  come  soon  again,  Straight 
Arrow?  " 

"  Aye,  but  when  I  know  not.  Perchance 
some  day  when  on  the  trail  you  will  find  me 
beside  you.  Then  make  no  sign,  but  let  be- 
lieve that  we  are  strangers,  David." 

"  On  the  trail  said  you?  " 

"  Aye,  for  Woosonametipom  goes  to  join 
Philip  and  in  the  morning  the  village  will  be 
vanished." 

"And  I?  Think  you  —  " 

"  The  sachem  will  'take  you  with  him, 
since  he  may  not  leave  you  behind.  Be  cau- 
tious, my  brother,  and  guard  your  tongue, 
for  now  all  are  hot  with  the  lust  for  battle 
and  their  hands  are  near  their  knives." 

"  I  thought  of  seeking  escape  over  the  wall, 
Pikot.  Once  in  the  forest  —  " 

"  Nay,  for  the  village  is  well  guarded  and 
the  trail  southward  swarms  with  enemies. 
Try  it  not.  Do  the  sachem's  bidding  and 
leave  the  matter  of  your  escape  to  your 
friends.  We  will  not  fail  you.  Farewell, 
Noawama." 

"  Farewell,  Monapikot.  I  pray  you  give 
my  love  to  my  father  if  you  meet  him  and 


MONAPIKOT'S  MESSAGE       203 

tell  him  that  all  is  well  with  me.  Bid  him 
not  to  trouble  for  me.  And  so  to  Obid.  Fare- 
well!" 

When  the  Pegan  went,  David  could  not 
tell,  for  no  sound  came  to  him,  but  when, 
after  a  moment,  David  called  softly  again, 
there  was  no  answer. 

Comforted,  and  with  much  to  think  on, 
David  stretched  himself  on  his  bed.  The  rev- 
elry was  dying  out,  and  so  the  fire,  and  al- 
though the  village  did  not  gain  its  usual  quiet 
that  night,  but  was  ever  filled  with  murmur- 
ings  and  movements,  the  drums  ceased  be- 
fore long  and  the  war-chants  ended.  And 
David,  lighter  of  heart  than  in  many  a  day, 
soon  dropped  to  sleep  again. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
METIPOM  TAKES  THE  WAR-PATH 

HE  awoke  to  find  John  tugging  at  him.  The 
wigwam  was  barely  alight,  but  sounds  told 
him  that  the  village  was  well  astir.  The  In- 
dian had  brought  instructions  from  the  sa- 
chem and  the  wherewithal  to  carry  them  out. 
David  was  to  take  the  trail  with  them  and  to 
that  end  must  look  to  be  one  of  the  tribe. 
First  his  body  must  be  stained,  and  then  he 
must  put  on  the  scanty  garments  that  lay 
in  a  small  heap  beside  the  couch.  With  small 
enthusiasm  David  yielded  to  John's  minis- 
trations. A  brown  liquid  from  a  small  kettle, 
still  warm,  was  rubbed  over  him  from  head 
to  feet,  and  where  it  touched  him  the  white- 
ness of  his  skin  disappeared  and  a  coppery- 
red  took  its  place.  David  viewed  the  result 
with  misgivings. 

"Shall  I  ever  come  clean  again?"  he 
asked.  "  Will  water  remove  it,  John  ?  " 

"  Nay,  it  will  not  wash  off,  brother,  but  in 
time  it  will  go."  John  stood  back  and  viewed 
his  work  proudly.  "  None  would  know  that 


METIPOM  TAKES  WAR-PATH    205 

you  were  not  of  our  people,  David.  Very 
brave  and  beautiful  you  look." 

"Do  I  so?  "  asked  the  boy  dryly.  "Yet 
methinks  I  prefer  my  own  skin  better.  How- 
ever, an  it  pleases  you  and  will  some  day 
disappear,  I  mind  not.  What  now?  " 

'  The  sachem  sends  you  these." 

"  What!  That  thing?  Nay,  I  will  not  go 
about  the  world  naked  for  Metipom  or  any 
one !  And  so  you  may  say  to  him ! " 

But  in  the  end,  mindful  of  Monapikot's 
advice,  he  donned  the  costume  provided; 
loin-cloth,  belt,  moccasins,  and  necklet.  All 
were  of  the  best  and  much  ornamented  with 
quills  and  wampum.  As  for  the  moccasins, 
he  was  glad  enough  to  have  them,  for  his 
shoes  had  long  since  worn  through  at  sides 
and  bottoms  and  provided  scant  protection 
for  his  feet.  John  grew  every  minute  more 
proud  of  the  miracle  he  was  working  and 
must  momentarily  pause  to  admire  and 
praise.  And  when  David  thought  all  com- 
plete, and  viewed  his  brown  nakedness  with 
a  mixture  of  shame  and  interest,  John  pro- 
duced white  and  blue  pigments  and,  with  the 
absorption  of  an  artist  before  his  canvas, 
traced  meaningless  lines  and  figures  on  the 
boy's  chest  and  face.  Then,  with  David 


206         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

grumbling  wrathfully,  the  Indian  wove  three 
red  feathers  into  his  hair,  and,  picking  up  the 
bow  that  Sequanawah  had  fashioned,  put  it 
in  his  hand. 

"  Now !  "  he  announced.  "  Go  and  see 
yourself  in  the  water  of  the  spring,  my  bro- 
ther, and  be  vain." 

"  More  like  ashamed,"  David  grumbled. 
"  Whither  do  we  go,  and  when  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  whither,  but  when  the  women 
are  ready  for  the  journey  we  start." 

David  pushed  aside  the  skin  that  hid  the 
entrance  and  gazed  forth  in  astonishment. 
The  Indian  village  was  gone  save  for  the 
palisade  and,  here  and  there,  a  bark  wig- 
wam. Otherwise  the  lodges  were  down  and 
the  skins  and  mats  that  had  formed  them 
were  rolled  and  tied  with  thongs  and  lay 
ready  for  transportation  on  the  backs  of  the 
squaws.  Fires  still  smouldered  and  a  few 
families  were  yet  partaking  of  food.  Dogs 
barked  excitedly  and  the  younger  children 
called  shrilly.  Everywhere  was  confusion  and 
bustle. 

As  David  watched  the  unusual  scene,  the 
sun,  hotly  red,  crept  over  the  rim  of  the 
world  and  in  the  valley  eastward  the  blue- 
gray  mist  wavered  above  the  parched  earth. 


METIPOM  TAKES  WAR-PATH    207 

The  old  squaw  came  with  food  ready  cooked, 
and  brought,  too,  a  sack  of  parched  corn  for 
David's  pouch.  The  food  he  devoured  as  he 
stood,  and  then,  John  having  returned  to  his 
own  family,  he  made  his  way  to  the  spring, 
somewhat  shamefacedly,  and,  as  he  scooped 
the  water  from  it,  saw  himself  reflected 
vaguely  in  the  surface.  The  first  glimpse  was 
startling,  for  he  who  looked  back  from  the 
rippled  mirror  might  well  have  been  a  young 
Indian.  Even  the  boy's  features  seemed  to 
have  changed ;  as,  indeed,  they  had  since  his 
coming  to  the  village,  for  lean  living  had 
sharpened  the  cheek-bones  and  made  thinner 
the  nose;  and  now  it  was  a  Wachoosett 
brave,  painted  and  feathered,  who  was  re- 
flected back  from  the  spring.  The  vision 
brought  a  little  thrill  to  David,  for  there  was 
something  almost  uncanny  in  the  marvels 
wrought  by  the  stain  and  the  pigment  and 
the  few  gay  feathers. 

An  hour  later  the  exodus  had  begun.  A 
handful  of  braves  had  left  the  village  long 
before,  and  at  intervals  others  had  followed, 
but  the  main  body  of  the  tribe  began  to 
straggle  through  the  gate  an  hour  after 
sun-up.  Ahead,  pretending  no  military  or- 


208          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

der,  but  armed  and  watchful,  went  the  war- 
riors, all  painted  and  panoplied  with  bows 
and  spears.  Well  in  the  van  stalked  Wooson- 
ametipom,  a  striking  figure  in  a  cloak  of 
green  cloth  edged  with  soft  yellow  feathers 
below  which  his  unclad  legs  emerged  start- 
lingly.  Much  wampum  he  wore,  and  his  face 
was  disfigured  with  a  blue  disk  on  each 
cheek  and  a  figure  not  unlike  a  Maltese  cross 
done  in  yellow  on  his  forehead.  Metipom 
carried  a  musket,  as  did  several  others.  Next 
to  the  warriors  went  the  older  boys,  armed 
with  bows,  and  behind  them  were  the  men 
past  the  fighting  age  and  the  squaws,  maidens 
and  children.  Only  occasionally  did  one  of 
the  men  or  boys  carry  any  burden,  and  then 
it  was  like  to  be  some  treasured  object  like 
an  iron  kettle  or  a  bundle  of  pelts.  It  was 
the  women  and  maidens,  and  even  the  chil- 
dren, who  bore  the  household  things:  skins 
and  mats  for  wigwams,  cooking-utensils, 
food  supplies,  babies,  and  a  general  miscel- 
lany of  belongings  too  precious  to  leave  be- 
hind. Used  to  such  form  of  drudgery,  how- 
ever, the  squaws  kept  pace  with  the  men  and 
asked  no  favor. 

David  found  that  he  was  to  be  allowed  no 
chance  of  escape,  for  two  painted  and  oil- 


METIPOM  TAKES  WAR-PATH    209 

smeared  braves  guarded  him  closely.  He  was 
permitted  to  retain  his  bow  and  arrows,  but 
he  had  neither  knife,  spear,  nor  tomahawk. 
The  pace  set  by  the  leaders  was  brisk  and  by 
mid-morning  they  had  crossed  two  small 
streams  and  left  some  ten  or  a  dozen  miles 
behind  them.  Straight  into  the  west  they 
had  gone,  for  the  most  part  through  park- 
like  forest  from  which  the  underbrush  had 
been  fired  the  autumn  before,  following  well- 
defined  trails.  Camp  was  made  on  the  slope 
of  a  hill  and  there  they  rested  until  after- 
noon. Some  of  the  scouts  joined  them  here 
and  made  reports  to  the  sachem.  John 
brought  food  to  David  and  afterwards  fetched 
him  water  from  a  brook  that  ran  at  the 
foot  of  the  slope. 

David's  skin,  unaccustomed  as  it  was  to 
exposure,  had  suffered  from  the  heat  of  the 
sun,  and  he  was  glad  to  seek  the  shade  and 
burrow  into  the  cool  fronds  of  a  patch  of 
ferns.  The  shadows  were  lengthening  when 
the  journey  began  again.  Now  the  way  led 
more  to  the  south,  and  close  to  sunset  a 
broad  valley  lay  before  them  through  which 
a  shallow  river  flowed.  Keeping  to  the  hills, 
Metipom  led  his  warriors  southward  until 
dusk,  by  which  time  they  had  reached  a 


210         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

grassy  swale  between  two  wooded  heights. 
Here  there  was  a  fine  spring  of  water  as  well 
as  plenty  of  young,  straight  growth  suitable 
for  lodge-poles,  and  here  permanent  camp 
was  made.  That  night  David  slept,  though 
not  very  soundly,  under  the  stars,  with  his 
two  guards  close  beside  him. 

In  the  morning  the  women  began  the  con- 
struction of  the  lodges  while  the  men  pre- 
pared for  their  business  of  war.  Some  few 
of  the  older  men  and  boys  went  in  search  of 
game  and  the  maidens  to  seek  berries,  but 
for  the  most  part  the  Indians  toiled  at 
erecting  wigwams  or  adding  to  their  store  of 
arrows  and  spears.  Sequanawah  and  another 
came  to  the  new  village  during  the  morning 
and  there  followed  a  conclave  of  the  sachem 
and  his  counselors.  David  was  put  to  work 
with  some  of  the  youths  at  raising  lodge- 
poles,  and,  since  in  that  treeless  place  the  sun 
had  full  way  with  his  tender  skin,  he  was 
soon  in  agony.  At  last  he  could  stand  it  no 
longer  and,  amid  the  shrill  gibes  of  his  com- 
panions, took  his  suffering  body  to  the  lee  of 
a  wigwam  and  found  some  comfort  in  the 
shade.  There  Sequanawah  later  found  him 
and,  seeing  the  puffed  condition  of  his  back 
and  shoulders,  brought  a  fat  and'  pitying 


METIPOM  TAKES  WAR-PATH    211 

squaw  who  anointed  his  burns  with  a  cooling 
salve  that  brought  instant  relief. 

"  I  am  weary,"  said  the  Indian  when  the 
squaw  had  gone  again.  "  I  have  traveled 
many  leagues  since  we  parted,  David,  and 
the  heat  has  baked  my  vitals.  I  had  not 
thought  to  see  my  brother  so  soon,  for  it  was 
not  so  said.  The  Great  Sachem  lays  his  plans 
to-day  and  to-morrow  rubs  them  out  with 
his  foot." 

Sequanawah  drew  a  moccasin  over  the 
grass  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  Sequanawah?  " 
asked  David. 

The  Indian  waved  a  lean  hand  vaguely. 
"  Into  the  sunset  and  back,"  he  answered. 

David  smiled  faintly.  "Aye?  And  what 
saw  you,  brother?  " 

A  reflection  of  the  boy's  smile  flickered  in 
the  black  eyes  of  the  Indian,  though  he  re- 
plied gravely  enough.  "  Deer  in  the  forest 
and  fish  in  the  streams." 

"  Were  any  white,  my  brother?  " 

"  Nay."  Sequanawah  shook  his  head.  "  I 
sought  not  your  people,  David." 

"  Is  Philip  near  by,  then?  " 

"  He  comes." 

"Hither?" 


212         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  I  know  not.  Stay  you  close  to  the  wig- 
wams, David,  and  ask  no  questions." 

"  That  is  no  easy  task,  Sequanawah,  when 
my  people  perish." 

"  Many  will  be  left,  brother.  Philip  can- 
not win  this  war,  for  the  White-Faces  are 
too  many  against  him.  In  the  end  he  must 
hide  or  yield.  Yet  ere  that  comes  about  the 
forest  leaves  will  be  red  with  blood  and  many 
of  your  people  and  mine  will  seek  the  Great 
Spirit.  I  go  now  to  have  sleep,  my  brother." 

In  spite  of  Monapikot's  advice,  David 
was  resolved  to  let  no  opportunity  to  escape 
his  captors  be  wasted,  for  by  keeping  his  ears 
open  he  had  learned  that  English  settlements 
lay  near  by,  notably  that  of  Brookfield, 
which,  he  believed,  was  little  more  than 
twelve  miles  south  of  the  present  encamp- 
ment. Yet,  although  his  guards  that  night 
relaxed  their  vigilance,  so  well  was  the  vil- 
lage picketed  that  any  attempt  at  escape 
would  have  been  futile.  The  next  morning 
strange  Indians  came,  mean  and  povern- 
seeming  savages  to  the  number  of  eight. 
These,  he  learned,  were  from  the  small  tribe 
of  Quaboags,  dwelling  beyond  Brookfield. 
They  spent  more  than  an  hour  in  Metipom's 
wigwam  and  then  departed  southward.  Of 


METIPOM  TAKES  WAR-PATH    213 

the  number  more  than  half  bore  muskets  of 
ancient  pattern.  With  them  went  Sequana- 
wah  and  two  other  captains. 

During  the  day  several  parties  of  from  six 
to  a  dozen  or  more  warriors  left  the  village 
in  different  directions,  and  at  intervals 
scouts  returned  and  made  report  to  the  sa- 
chem. 

Woosonametipom  was  now  living  in  less 
state,  his  lodge  being  small  and  unadorned. 
Most  of  the  time  he  sat  in  front  of  it,  smok- 
ing or  dozing  when  no  affairs  demanded  at- 
tention. It  was  evident  to  David  that  the 
present  village,  while  designed  to  be  occupied 
for  some  time,  was  not  intended  to  be  per- 
manent. This  was  shown  by  the  makeshift 
manner  of  erecting  the  lodges  and  by  the  fact 
that  the  squaws  had  not  unpacked  certain 
of  their  bundles  brought  from  the  Wachoo- 
sett  country.  Probably,  he  thought,  it  was 
Metipom's  intention  to  join  Philip  and  fol- 
low that  sagamore's  wanderings.  The  site 
had  doubtless  been  chosen  with  a  view  to 
secretness  and  safety  from  sudden  surprise. 
The  place  was  like  a  pocket,  with  the  open- 
ing toward  the  wooded  valley  that  ran  north 
and  south.  On  three  sides  of  the  pocket  the 
hills  arose  sufficiently  to  hide  it,  and,  being 


214         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

but  sparsely  timbered,  afforded  a  far  view  of 
the  country  about.  By  day  and  night 
watchers,  stationed  on  the  heights  and  at  the 
entrance  of  the  grassy  pocket,  formed  a  com- 
plete cordon  about  the  encampment.  Attack, 
should  it  come,  would  naturally  come  from 
the  valley,  and  in  that  case  it  would  be  simple 
enough  for  the  Wachoosetts,  should  they 
choose  flight  rather  than  battle,  to  slip  back 
across  the  hill  toward  the  east. 

Toward  sunset  of  the  second  day  in  the 
new  village,  David  went  down  the  slope 
toward  where  the  spring  burbled  from  be- 
neath the  twisted  roots  of  a  great  ash  tree. 
His  sunburn  still  pained  him  and  many 
small  blisters  had  come  on  his  shoulders. 
Three  squaws  were  filling  kettles  at  the 
spring,  and  to  one  of  them  he  made  known 
his  desire  for  laving  his  body.  When  she  at 
last  understood  what  it  was  he  wished,  the 
woman  took  much  delight  in  filling  her  kettle 
and  emptying  it  over  his  shoulders,  a  service 
soon  entered  into  by  the  other  squaws,  who, 
whatever  their  opinion  of  such  procedure 
might  have  been,  gained  much  amusement 
thereby  and  plied  their  kettles  so  diligently 
that  the  boy  was  soon  choking  and  sputter- 
ing, to  the  entertainment  of  a  near-by  picket. 


METIPOM  TAKES  WAR-PATH    215 

David  at  length  had  to  flee  or  be  drowned, 
and  so  he  fled,  laughing,  around  the  tree  and 
into  the  thicket  that  lay  beyond,  pursued  by 
the  youngest  of  the  three  women  who,  finding 
her  quarry  escaping,  sent  the  contents  of  her 
kettle  after  him  and  gave  up  the  chase.  Shiv- 
ering a  little,  for  the  evening  was  cooling  with 
the  descent  of  the  sun,  David  paused  to  make 
certain  that  the  squaws  had  withdrawn.  Al- 
though he  could  not  see  them  through  the 
leaves,    he    heard    their   guttural    laughter 
diminish  as  they  plodded  off  up  the  gentle 
slope  toward  the  lodges,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  emerging  from  his  sanctuary  and  follow- 
ing when  a  sudden  thought  bade  him  pause. 
Unintentionally  he  had  passed  between  the 
watchers  and  so  far  none  had  challenged.  It 
might  be  that  by  remaining  where  he  was 
until  darkness  he  could  get  away  unseen.  In 
the  meanwhile  if  any  sought  him  he  could 
pretend  slumber  or  illness  as  his  reason  for 
not  returning.  Crouching,  he  peered  between 
the  lower  branches  of  the  bushes.  At  one  side, 
some  twenty  yards  away,  the  picket  who  had 
watched  the  proceedings  at  the  spring  had 
turned  and  was  again  squatting  motionless 
and  staring  into  the  forest.  On  the  other  side 
the  next  picket  was  not  visible,  but  David 


216         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

knew  that  he  was  stationed  on  the  first  rise 
of  the  little  hill  that  began  at  the  thicket's 
edge.  It  seemed  that  the  first  of  the  two  had 
already  forgotten  David's  existence.  Per- 
haps he  was  under  the  belief  that  the  captive 
had  returned  with  the  squaws.  In  any  case, 
it  appeared  to  David  that  the  Indian  was  no 
more  concerned  with  him  and  that  he  did 
not  suspect  his  presence  in  the  thicket. 

With  a  little  thrill  of  excitement  the  boy 
lowered  himself  quietly  to  the  ground,  brush- 
ing aside  all  twigs  that  might  break  and  give 
alarm.  He  forgot  to  be  chilly,  forgot  even 
the  smarting  and  burning  and  itching  of  his 
back  and  shoulders,  for  the  prospect  of  mak- 
ing his  escape  filled  him  with  an  exultation 
that  warmed  his  heart  and  filled  his  thoughts. 

Quickly  the  twilight  came,  for  the  forest 
soon  shut  off  the  last  rays  of  the  sinking  sun. 
From  the  wigwams  came  the  murmur  of 
voices,  the  snarling  of  dogs,  the  crackling  of 
evening  fires.  A  breath  of  wind  crept  down 
the  hillside  and  rustled  the  leaves  about  him. 
It  brought  the  fragrance  of  burning  wood  and 
of  cooking  food  and  reminded  him  that  he 
was  hungry.  But  hunger  was  such  a  small 
matter  now  that  he  only  smiled  grimly  and 
strove  to  be  patient  while  the  dusk  changed 


METIPOM  TAKES  WAR-PATH    217 

lingeringly  to  darkness.  At  last  his  hand  held 
before  his  nose  was  but  a  faint  gray  oblong 
and,  fearing  that  if  he  tarried  longer  those 
whose  duty  it  was  to  guard  him  would  dis- 
cover his  absence  and  give  the  alarm,  he  de- 
cided to  begin  his  attempt. 

Before  darkness  had  fallen,  he  had  studied 
the  ground  about  him  and  chosen  a  path. 
Now  he  set  out  to  follow  it.  Prone  on  the 
ground,  he  squirmed  forward,  thrusting 
aside  the  slender  trunks  of  the  bushes  with 
cautious  hands  and  freeing  his  path  of  twigs 
and  fallen  branches.  In  spite  of  his  efforts, 
absolute  silence  was  impossible,  and  more 
than  once  his  heart  leaped  into  his  mouth  as 
a  tiny  snap  was  heard  or  a  bush,  released  too 
quickly,  rustled  back  into  place.  But  though 
the  sounds  seemed  alarmingly  loud  to  him, 
they  were  doubtless  no  more  than  the  natural 
noises  of  the  night  to  the  picket.  Inch  by 
inch  and  foot  by  foot  David  made  his  way 
through  the  thicket,  leaving  the  village  each 
moment  farther  behind.  At  last  the  bushes 
ended,  or  rather  thinned,  and  the  trunks  of 
trees  were  about  him.  With  a  breath  of  re- 
lief he  carefully  got  to  his  feet  and,  still  test- 
ing every  step,  made  his  way  noiselessly 
toward  the  south,  guiding  himself  by  fre- 


2i8         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

quent  glimpses  of  a  great  white  star  that 
hung  in  the  sky  above  the  tree-tops.  When  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  had  passed  in  cautious 
progress,  he  told  himself  that  at  last  he  had 
succeeded  in  making  his  escape,  and  that,  un- 
less he  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  fall  into  the 
hands  of  a  scouting  party  by  daylight,  he 
should  be  within  sight  of  an  English  settle- 
ment. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
IN  KING  PHILIP'S  POWER 

THE  eastern  sky  paled  beyond  the  green- 
clad  hills.  A  bird  high  on  the  topmost  branch 
of  a  great  oak  tree  chirped  experimentally 
and  then  burst  into  a  trilling  welcome  to  the 
new  day.   A  flush  of  rose  crept  above  the 
horizon  and  cast  its  fairy  radiance  through 
the  cloistered  forest.  To  the  weary  boy  who 
leaned  against  the  smooth,  cool  bole  of  a 
beech  tree  the  coming  of  dawn  was  grateful, 
indeed.   All  through  the  night  he  had  trav- 
ersed the  woods,  resting  at  times  for  short 
periods,  silently,  cautiously,  guiding  his  steps 
by  the  stars.  Progress  had  been  woefully 
slow,  and  now  that  day  was  approaching  he 
had  scant  knowledge  of  the  distance  he  had 
traveled.   He  had  heard  an  Indian  say  that 
the  English  town  of  Brookfield  was  a  "  little 
journey  "  to  the  south  of  the  Wachoosett  en- 
campment.  A  "  little  journey  "  meant  usu- 
ally from  ten  to   a  dozen  English   miles, 
although  the  Indians  were  grandly  vague  in 
such  matters.    It  seemed  to  David  as  he 


220          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

paused  to  rest  that  he  must  surely  have  trav- 
eled that  distance,  and  now  he  searched  the 
forest  for  indications  of  cleared  country. 
Near  at  hand  a  half-dry  little  stream  wan- 
dered between  ledges  and  fern  banks,  and 
David  sought  it  and  drank  deeply  and  laved 
face  and  hands  in  the  cool  water.  Then,  re- 
freshed, he  turned  his  steps  away  from  the 
dawn  and  set  out  to  find  the  settlement. 

Presently  a  well-defined  path  lay  before 
him,  proceeding  in  the  general  direction  of 
the  course  he  had  chosen.  The  path  was  wide 
and  hard-trodden  and  tempted  him  sorely. 
By  taking  it  he  could  make  much  better 
progress,  but  there  was  always  the  possibility 
of  an  unwelcome  meeting  on  the  trail.  Still, 
not  once  since  he  had  slipped  away  from  the 
Wachoosett  village  had  he  so  much  as  heard 
a  footstep,  and  it  seemed  quite  probable  to 
him  that  he  was  now  close  to  Brookfield  and 
that  enemy  savages  would  not  be  found  so 
near  to  the  settlement.  So,  after  a  moment's 
deliberation,  he  stepped  forth  into  the  path 
and  went  on  quickly,  though  keeping  a  sharp 
watch  the  while.  The  trail  turned  and  wound 
frequently  and  he  kept  close  at  one  side  or 
the  other  that  he  might  step  back  from  sight 
if  needs  be.  A  dog  barked  afar  off  and  was 


IN  KING  PHILIP'S  POWER     221 

answered.  The  light  increased  steadily,  and 
suddenly  and  like  a  miracle  the  forest  be- 
came filled  with  the  golden  radiance  of  the 
sun.  Only  the  upper  reaches  of  the  trees  were 
illumined  as  yet  and  down  below  the  blue 
shadows  still  lingered,  but  the  sight  brought 
joy  and  new  courage  to  the  traveler.  And 
then,  silently  skirting  a  bend  in  the  path,  his 
heart  stood  still  for  an  instant  ere  it  began 
a  wild  tattoo  against  his  ribs.  Not  ten  paces 
before  him  stood  two  savages,  short,  stocky 
men  in  full  war  paraphernalia,  painted  and 
feathered.  Retreat  would  have  been  futile, 
for  they  had  seen  him  as  soon  as  he  had 
seen  them.  Remained  only  to  put  a  good  face 
on  the  encounter  and  win  by.  A  second  look 
showed  David  that,  whatever  the  Indians 
were,  they  were  not  Wachoosetts.  Nor  did  it 
seem  that  they  were  natives  of  the  country 
thereabouts.  Their  tomahawks  were  long- 
hiked  and  heavy  of  head  and  their  girdles 
hung  lower  in  front.  And  yet  they  might  be 
Quaboags,  in  which  case  he  had  nothing  to 
fear,  since  so  far  the  Quaboags  still  professed 
friendship  for  the  English. 

His  pause  had  been  but  momentary,  and 
now  he  went  forward,  one  hand  outspread 
in  the  Nipmuck  salutation.  "Netop!"  he 


222         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

called.  The  strangers  made  no  answer  for 
a  moment,  but  looked  him  up  and  down  with 
sidelong  glances.  Then  one  replied  in  a  lan- 
guage the  boy  did  not  know.  But  the  words 
were  plainly  a  question,  and  David,  resolving 
to  pass  himself  off  for  what  he  seemed,  a 
Wachoosett,  answered  in  the  Nipmuck 
tongue. 

"  I  am  a  Wachoosett,"  he  said.  "  Wooson- 
ametipom  is  my  sachem.  We  lodge  three 
leagues  northward.  We  come  on  a  friendly 
visit  to  this  country.  Who  are  you,  bro- 
thers?" 

The  Indians  seemed  to  understand  some- 
thing of  what  he  said.  Doubtless  the  words 
Wachoosett  and  Woosonametipom  were  fa- 
miliar: perhaps  others,  since  many  words 
were  similar  in  the  different  tongues.  One 
of  the  two,  a  cruel-vis  aged  savage  with  much 
tattooing  on  his  body,  grunted  doubtfully, 
but  the  other  embarked  on  a  long  speech, 
none  of  which  David  could  fathom.  But  he 
listened  gravely  and  respectfully,  paused  at 
one  side  of  the  path,  until  the  man  had  ended. 
Then  he  replied  with  all  the  compliments 
and  friendly  phrases  he  could  muster  in  Nip- 
muck;  and  wished  all  the  time  that  he  had 
at  least  a  knife  or  spear.  It  was  the  cruel- 


IN   KING  PHILIP'S  POWER     223 

faced  one  who  solved  the  difficulty  of  inter- 
course by  lapsing  into  what  passed  for  Eng- 
lish with  him. 

"  No  talk  um  talk.  Where  um  go?  " 

"  I  go  Brookfield.  Which  way  um,  bro- 
ther? " 

"  What  for  um  go  Brookfield?  " 

"  I  take  message  to  English  from  my  sa- 
chem." 

"  Where  um  message?  "  The  savage  held 
out  a  hand  imperiously. 

David  shook  his  head  and  pointed  to  his 
forehead.  "  In  here,"  he  replied.  Then  he 
pointed  down  the  path.  "  Brookfield  this 
way?  "  he  asked. 

The  other  bowed,  but  shot  a  suspicious 
and  scowling  look  from  under  his  brows. 
David  took  a  long  breath  and  stepped  for- 
ward. 

"  Farewell,  brothers." 

Mutters  were  their  only  response.  David 
swung  on,  a  prickly  sensation  along  his  spine. 
That  he  had  fooled  them  into  thinking  him 
a  Wachoosett  Indian  scarcely  seemed  possi- 
ble. Indeed,  the  uglier  of  the  two  had  plainly 
been  incredulous  from  the  first.  But,  after  a 
dozen  paces,  he  began  to  hope,  and  he  was 
congratulating  himself  when  there  was  a 


224         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

swift  whiz-zt  beside  him  and  an  arrow  em- 
bedded itself  in  a  sapling  a  few  yards  ahead 
of  him.  He  turned  swiftly  and  plunged  into 
the  wood.  As  he  dropped  to  cover,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  stinging  pain  in  his  left  shoul- 
der, and  looking  he  beheld  an  arrow  thrust 
into  the  soft  part  of  his  upper  arm.  Fortu- 
nately, it  had  no  more  than  buried  its  head, 
and  he  wrenched  it  loose  and,  sinking  behind 
a  tree,  held  it  clutched  in  his  right  hand  as 
he  peered  cautiously  forth.  It  was  not  much 
of  a  weapon,  to  be  sure,  but  it  gave  him 
some  comfort  to  feel  even  so  poor  a  defense 
in  his  grasp.  The  Indians  were  coming 
toward  his  hiding-place  at  a  slow  trot,  with 
many  pauses.  One  had  fitted  another  arrow 
to  his  bow,  but  the  second  held  only  his 
tomahawk  as  he  advanced.  Flight,  as  hope- 
less as  it  seemed,  was  David's  only  course, 
and  in  an  instant  he  was  up  and  away,  dash- 
ing from  tree  to  tree.  An  arrow  flew  past 
him ;  footsteps  sounded  above  the  thumping 
of  his  heart.  A  good  runner,  David's  night- 
long journey  had  left  him  with  little  strength 
for  the  present  task,  and  after  a  minute  he 
saw  that  capture  was  certain,  for  already  the 
swifter  of  the  two  pursuers  was  close  behind 
him  and  he  knew  without  looking  that  the 


IN  KING  PHILIP'S  POWER     225 

stone  tomahawk  was  raised  in  air.  With  his 
back  to  a  big  tree  he  stopped  and  faced  them 
and  gestured  surrender. 

They,  too,  stopped  while  still  a  few  paces 
away,  drawing  apart  that  he  might  not  slip 
past.  The  ugly  one  grinned  wickedly  and 
swung  his  tomahawk  with  ferocious  menace. 

"  Why  um  Englishman  run?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why  did  you  shoot  at  me  ?  "  demanded 
David  sternly. 

The  other  savage  replied.  "Um  say  um 
Wachoosett.  What  for  tell  um  lie,  brother?  " 

"  I  am  Englishman,  aye,  but  I  come  from 
Woosonametipom's  lodge.  I  am  friend  of 
Wachoosett,  friend  of  Indians.  I  not  know 
if  you  be  my  friend.  So  I  say  I'm  Wachoo- 
sett. You  see  I  no  have  weapon." 

"  You  come  along  me,"  growled  the  cruel- 
faced  Indian.  "  No  run  away.  Me  kill." 

"  Where  I  go?  "  asked  David. 

"  You  no  ask  um  question.  You  come 
along  grand." 

The  savage  pointed  back  along  the  trail 
with  his  big  tomahawk.  After  an  instant's 
indecision,  David  went.  They  put  him  ahead 
and  followed  close  behind  him.  In  such  man- 
ner the  three  traversed  a  hundred  rods  of 
the  trail.  Then  a  hand  on  the  boy's  arm 


226          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

swung  him  to  the  right  and  he  discerned  a 
faintly  visible  path,  scarcely  more  than  a 
deer  runway,  that  led  toward  the  east.  For 
a  good  half-hour  he  traveled,  now  turning 
right  and  now  left,  and  at  last  the  woods 
thinned  and  a  rocky  hillside  meadow  came 
into  sight.  Along  the  border  of  this  they 
passed  and  crossed  a  muddy  stream,  and, 
with  the  morning  sunlight  full  in  their  faces, 
mounted  a  bushy  ridge  and  went  down  the 
other  side  of  it  and  into  a  tract  of  marshy 
ground  grown  head-high  with  yellowing 
rushes  and  interspersed  with  alder  and  white 
birch.  A  dog  barked  suddenly  from  close  at 
hand,  so  unexpectedly  that  David,  picking 
his  steps  across  the  swamp,  started  and  went 
floundering  to  his  knees  in  the  slimy  water. 
In  another  instant  the  rushes  were  gone, 
trampled  flat  by  many  feet,  and  a  little  island 
sprang  from  the  marsh,  and  David  saw  many 
Indians  and  some  rude  huts  of  branches  and 
bark  before  him.  A  mangy  dog  rushed  at  his 
legs  and  ran  off  howling  as  one  of  the  boy's 
captors  struck  him  with  his  bow.  The  sunlit 
air  was  filled  with  the  smoke  of  fires,  voices 
growled,  and  David  was  thrust  into  the  midst 
of  a  group  of  painted  savages. 
More  curious  than  unfriendly  they  seemed, 


IN  KING  PHILIP'S  POWER     227 

but  that  was  due  to  the  fact  that  for  a  mo- 
ment they  failed  to  penetrate  his  disguise. 
It  was  not  until  his  captors  spoke,  explaining 
and  pointing,  that  the  Indians  began  to  mur- 
mur and  growl  and  even  laugh  derisively. 
One  seized  David's  scalp-lock  and  gave  it  a 
mighty  tug  as  if  expecting  it  to  come  off  like 
a  wig,  and  David,  resenting  the  pain, 
thoughtlessly  struck  his  arm  away.  The  In- 
dian, a  tall,  bone-faced  brave,  uttered  a  cry 
and  thrust  forward  with  the  spear  held  in  his 
other  hand.  But  David  saw  in  time  and 
leaped  back,  crowding  against  the  throng  be- 
hind him,  and  one  of  his  captors  interposed 
and  the  crowd  laughed  a  little.  At  this  mo- 
ment David  was  aware  of  one  who  was  push- 
ing his  way  toward  him  with  no  gentle  use  of 
his  elbows,  a  large  and  heavily  built  Indian 
who  wore  a  coat  that  was  covered  entirely 
with  wampum  of  many  hues  arranged  not 
unpleasingly  in  strange  designs.  Authority 
became  him  well,  for,  although  there  was 
something  sinister  in  the  cold  glitter  of  his 
eyes,  his  features  were  not  unpleasing  and 
held  a  certain  nobility,  and  David,  observ- 
ing all  fell  back  in  deference,  and  seeing  that 
wampum  coat  whose  fame  was  widespread, 
knew  that  he  was  face  to  face  with  the  arch- 


228          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

enemy,  King  Philip,  sachem  of  the  Wampa- 
noags. 

Pushing  aside  one  of  David's  captors,  who 
had  interposed  between  the  boy  and  the  In- 
dian with  the  spear,  King  Philip  looked  for 
a  moment  at  the  prisoner  with  straight  and 
piercing  gaze.  Then,  in  a  pleasant  voice  and 
with  friendly  mien,  he  asked :  "  You  Eng- 
lish? " 

"  Aye." 

"What  is  your  name?  " 

"  David  Lindall." 

"  Where  you  dwell,  David?  " 

"  Near  the  long  rapids  of  the  Charles 
River,  westward  of  Nonantum." 

"  You  know  Great  Teacher  Eliot,  maybe, 
by  place  called  Natick?  " 

"  Aye,  his  village  of  the  Praying  Indians 
is  but  two  leagues  from  my  father's  house." 

"  He  is  fine  man,"  said  Pometacom  grave- 
ly. "  Come  to  my  lodge,  David,  and  make 
talk." 

The  wigwam  of  the  sachem  was  a  small 
and  poorly  built  affair  of  bark  over  poles. 
There  were  a  few  pieces  of  rush  matting  on 
the  floor  and  a  few  cooking-utensils  beside 
the  still  warm  ashes  of  the  fire.  David  saw 
that  there  were  neither  women  nor  children 


IN  KING  PHILIPS  POWER     229 

about,  while  he  estimated  the  number  of 
Pometacom's  warriors  at  near  sixty,  a  num- 
ber much  smaller  than  he  would  have  sur- 
mised. With  the  chief  went  a  young  and 
strikingly  intelligent  appearing  Indian, 
named  Caleb,  who  was  even  more  gaudily 
bedecked  than  the  sachem  himself,  save  for 
the  latter's  famous  wampum  coat.  All  seated 
themselves,  and  then,  having  lighted  his  pipe 
with  much  care  and  deliberation,  King 
Philip,  still  speaking  in  a  gentle  fashion, 
questioned  David  closely.  The  latter,  deter- 
mining to  tell  a  truthful  story,  told  of  his 
adventures  from  the  time  of  his  capture  by 
Sequanawah,  and  the  sachem  heard  him 
silently,  nodding  now  and  then,  puffing  occa- 
sional volumes  of  choking  smoke  from  his 
stone  pipe.  The  second  Indian  listened  as 
closely,  but  there  was  an  expression  on  his 
face  that  David  did  not  like.  When  he  had 
ended  his  narrative,  the  sachem,  to  David's 
intense  surprise,  asked  abruptly: 

"  You  know  Captain  Hutchinson  ?  " 
"  Hutchinson  ?  Nay,  I  know  him  not,  King 
Philip." 

"  You  come  from  Brookfield?  " 
"  Nay,   I   was    seeking    Brookfield  when 
your  warriors  fell  upon  me,  as  I  have  told." 


23o         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  You  tell  lies !  "  The  sachem's  voice 
deepened  to  an  angry  growl.  "  You  English 
spy.  You  make  show  you  Wachoosett.  You 
put  red  juice  on  your  body  and  feather  in 
your  hair.  You  say  you  go  with  message 
from  Woosonametipom  Sachem  to  English 
at  Brookfield  village.  You  tell  so  to  my  war- 
riors when  they  find  you  in  forest.  You  not 
make  fool  of  Philip !  You  tell  me  truth,  Da- 
vid!" 

"  I  have  told  you  the  truth,  King  Philip. 
If  you  doubt  me,  you  need  but  send  a  mes- 
senger to  Woosonametipom.  He  will  tell  you 
that  I  speak  truth." 

The  sachem  wagged  his  head  from  side  to 
side  and  motioned  fretfully  with  the  hand 
that  held  his  pipe.  "  I  not  believe.  You  spy. 
Maybe  I  kill  you,  maybe  I  not.  You  answer 
me  truth  what  I  ask;  we  see.  How  many 
fighting  men  this  Captain  Hutchinson 
have?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

The  sachem  rewarded  him  with  a  sidelong, 
drooping  glance  that  sent  a  chill  down  the 
boy's  spine  and  spoke  with  the  younger  In- 
dian in  native  language.  Then  for  several 
minutes  King  Philip  spat  questions  at  Da- 
vid, seeking,  it  appeared,  to  learn  what  forces 


IN  KING  PHILIP'S  POWER     231 

of  the  English  were  in  that  vicinity,  and 
likewise  the  identity  of  certain  Indians  who, 
it  seemed,  were  serving  with  the  English  as 
guides.  But  to  not  one  question  could  David 
make  intelligent  answer,  and  the  sachem 
grew  each  moment  more  incensed,  until,  in 
the  end,  he  tossed  his  pipe  on  the  ground 
and  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  You  not  talk  now,  you  English  dog,  but 
soon  you  talk  grand!  Much  heat  make 
tongue  wag !  Plenty  fire  you  get,  plenty  talk 
you  make !  You  see !  " 

The  younger  Indian  pulled  David  to  his 
feet  and  thrust  him  before  him  through  the 
doorway.  Outside  he  called  others  and  they 
came  gathering  about  with  cruel,  snarling 
grins.  He  who  had  haled  him  forth  spoke 
for  a  minute,  evidently  directing,  and  then 
hands  were  again  laid  on  the  boy  and  he  was 
pushed  and  dragged  over  the  ground  toward 
where,  at  an  edge  of  the  swamp  island,  a  lone 
cedar  tree  stood.  Until  they  approached  it, 
David  believed  the  sachem's  threat  to  be  but 
idle,  born  of  exasperation  and  anger,  but  now 
he  knew  that  it  was  to  be  carried  out.  Fear 
and  desperation  lent  him  strength.  Wrench- 
ing himself  free  from  the  grasps  of  those  who 
held  him,  he  shot  a  clenched  fist  into  the  face 


232          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

of  one  before  him,  eluded  a  second,  and 
dashed  for  freedom.  But  the  attempt  was 
hopeless  from  the  first.  Before  him  lay 
morass  and  stagnant  pools,  and  even  had  he 
reached  the  swamp,  he  would  have  been  soon 
recaptured.  As  it  was,  he  was  overtaken  be- 
fore he  had  gained  it  and  found  himself 
writhing,  striking,  even  kicking  with  moc- 
casined  feet,  in  the  grasp  of  many  angry  foes. 
And  so,  although  he  struck  some  lusty  blows, 
he  was  speedily  subdued,  and  lay,  panting 
and  glaring,  on  the  ground  while  thongs  were 
passed  about  his  wrists  and  ankles  and  drawn 
cruelly  tight.  Then  he  was  borne  to  the  tree 
and  held  on  his  feet  while,  with  his  back 
against  the  twisted  trunk,  other  ropes  and 
thongs  made  him  fast  to  it.  His  wrists  were 
unbound  and  his  arms  drawn  back  around 
the  tree  and  then  secured  again,  which 
brought  him  into  an  attitude  of  much  pain. 
When  the  last  knot  was  tied,  the  Indians 
drew  back  and  inspected  him  with  grunts  of 
satisfaction  and  smiles  of  cruel  pleasure,  and 
one  whose  bleeding  lips  proclaimed  him  as 
the  recipient  of  David's  blow  stepped  for- 
ward and  struck  him  brutally  in  the  face. 
The  boy,  seeing  the  savage's  intention,  jerked 
his  head  aside  and  the  blow  landed  on  the 


IN  KING  PHILIP'S  POWER     233 

side  of  his  chin.  But  even  so,  it  dazed  him  for 
a  moment,  and  in  that  moment  another  de- 
livered a  resounding  slap  with  open  palm 
against  David's  face.  The  boy's  head  dropped 
to  his  shoulder  and  his  eyes  closed,  and,  see- 
ing him  so,  the  Indians,  muttering  and  spit- 
ting upon  him,  went  their  ways. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP 

DAVID'S  coma  lasted  but  a  few  moments,  and 
when  he  raised  his  head  again,  save  that  the 
persecutors  had  left  him,  everything  was  as 
before.  The  Indians  had  returned  to  their 
former  occupations  about  the  camp;  a  few 
taking  food,  others  playing  at  their  gambling 
games,  still  more  lolling  with  pipes  beside 
the  rude  wigwams.  David,  in  spite  of  the 
dizzy,  ringing  feeling  of  his  head  and  the 
weakness  of  his  body,  took  heart.  That  they 
did  not  mean  to  torture  him  at  once  was  evi- 
dent, and  while  there  was  life  there  was  hope. 
He  found  that  by  straightening  his  body  he 
could  secure  relief  from  the  painful  straining 
of  his  arms,  although  he  well  knew  that  ere 
long  that  relief  would  fail  him.  The  sun  was 
climbing  above  the  tops  of  the  few  trees  that 
thrust  their  straggling  branches  from  the 
swamp  and  the  day  promised  to  be  close  and 
hot.  Already  thirst  was  parching  his  threat. 
Food  he  had  no  wish  for  now.  As  the  sun- 
light warmed  the  stagnant  water  of  the 
partly  dried  morass  around  the  island,  a 


THE  ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP    235 

fetid  odor  filled  the  air,  and  flies  and  mos- 
quitoes began  to  increase  the  captive's  suf- 
ferings. The  English  held  that  mosquitoes 
did  not  bite  the  Indians,  and  while  this  was 
not  literally  true,  yet  it  was  a  fact,  as  David 
had  observed,  that  the  troublesome  insects 
had  less  liking  for  the  savages  than  for  those 
of  white  blood.  Perchance  the  boy's  stained 
skin  deceived  the  pests  into  mistaking  him 
for  a  savage,  since,  while  they  bothered  him 
greatly  by  alighting  upon  him,  they  seemed 
not  to  sting  save  infrequently.  But  the  flies, 
a  particularly  bloodthirsty  sort  whose  bodies 
gleamed  in  the  sunlight  like  green  jewels, 
cared  not  what  color  the  skins  of  their  vic- 
tims might  be  and  so  proved  of  more  painful 
annoyance  than  the  mosquitoes.  Fortunate- 
ly, the  cedar  despite  its  twisted,  misshapen 
body,  provided  fair  shade  from  the  sun's  hot 
rays  as  the  morning  progressed  and  David 
was  spared  one  form  of  torture. 

None  heeded  him.  The  hours  passed  and 
the  heat  of  the  August  day  increased,  and  Da- 
vid's thirst  became  well-nigh  intolerable. 
Altering  the  position  of  his  body  within  the 
scant  allowance  of  the  thongs  that  held  him 
no  longer  brought  surcease  from  pain.  His 
arms  ached  in  every  muscle  and  nerve,  and 


236         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

the  cord  about  his  wrists  cut  into  the  flesh. 
Despondency  grew,  and  by  the  time  the  sun 
was  at  the  zenith  he  longed  desperately  for 
the  merciful  release  of  a  bullet.  At  last,  un- 
able to  bear  the  anguish  of  thirst  longer,  he 
cried  with  dry  tongue  for  water.  An  Indian 
preparing  food  above  a  tiny  fire  of  twigs  near 
by  looked  stolidly  across  at  him,  hunched  his 
glistening  shoulders,  and  gave  his  attention 
again  to  the  earthen  dish  before  him.  David 
raised  his  voice  in  a  cracked  cry  and  repeated 
his  plea  many  times,  but  none  more  than 
stared  at  him.  With  a  sob  of  self-pity  the  boy 
closed  his  eyes  and  let  his  head  fall  on  his 
breast,  and  a  sort  of  semi-consciousness  en- 
veloped him.  From  it  he  was  presently 
aroused  by  the  speaking  of  his  name.  Before 
him  stood  King  Philip,  Caleb,  and  several 
others  of  his  company.  He  viewed  them 
dully,  his  mind  but  half  awake. 

"  You  maybe  talk  some  now,"  said  the 
sachem,  smiling  evilly.  "  You  maybe  tell  me 
things  and  speak  truth,  David.  What  say?  " 

David  sought  to  moisten  his  parched  lips. 
"  Water !  "  he  muttered. 

The  sachem  spoke  to  one  of  his  attendants 
and  presently  a  cup  was  held  to  the  boy's 
lips.  But  no  more  than  a  few  swallows  was 


THE  ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP    237 

allowed  him  and  the  precious  fluid  was  with- 
drawn in  spite  of  his  groans  and  panting 
pleas. 

"  You  talk  first,"  said  the  sachem.  "  Then 
you  have  much  water.  Where  this  man  Cap- 
tain Willard  lodge  now?  " 

David  shook  his  head  weakly.  What  the 
sachem  said  was  but  a  meaningless  jumble 
of  words  to  him.  King  Philip's  brow  dark- 
ened. 

"  No  talk  yet?  We  see!  Maybe  you  cold, 
David.  Maybe  you  want  fire." 

Again  he  spoke  in  his  own  tongue  and  two 
Indians  left  the  group.  Dfavid  had  a  premo- 
nition of  danger,  but  his  mind,  drugged  by 
suffering,  sensed  but  va$kly  what  the  sa- 
chem intended.  He  closed  his  eyes  wearily 
and  only  opened  them  when  the  Indians 
threw  armfuls  of  dried  twigs  and  branches  at 
his  feet.  Even  then  he  but  glanced  down  for 
an  instant  with  indifferent  eyes.  The  sachem 
spoke  again  to  him,  but  David  heard  as 
though  from  a  distance  and  made  no  answer. 
Then  a  stab  of  pain  dispelled  his  languor  and 
his  eyes  opened  protestingly.  The  young  In- 
dian Caleb,  grinning  fiendishly,  was  pressing 
the  point  of  his  knife  into  the  boy's  shoul- 
der. David  flinched  and  moaned. 


238          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  Maybe  you  talk? "  demanded  the  sachem, 
his  face  thrust  close  to  David's,  his  eyes  hard 
with  wrath  and  cruelty.  "  Philip  not  burn 
you  all  up  quick,  David.  Philip  make  you 
roast  little,  then  you  cool  off.  Maybe  you 
talk  plenty.  Speak,  you  English  dog-pup !  " 

"  I  know  —  nothing,"  mumbled  David. 
"  Give  me  —  water !  " 

"Water?  I  give  you  fire!  I  make  your 
tongue  hang  from  your  mouth !  I  make  you 
suffer  grand  like  your  people  make  my  chil- 
dren and  my  squaws  suffer.  You  see !  " 

From  the  swamp  to  the  west  came  the 
shrill  call  of  a  jhy,  twice  repeated.  At  the 
first  sound  King  ^hilip  and  those  beside  him 
stiffened  to  attention.  At  the  third  they 
turned  and  strode  toward  the  center  of  the 
camp.  David  closed  his  eyes  again  and  his 
head  fell  forward  and  merciful  unconscious- 
ness came  over  him. 

From  the  swamp  a  straggling  line  of  sav- 
ages emerged  and,  signing  greetings,  ap- 
proached the  sachem.  A  scant  dozen  in  all, 
most  bore  muskets  and  a  number  showed 
wounds  that  still  dripped  blood.  They  were 
not  of  Philip's  company,  but  were  Quaboags, 
and  with  them  were  three  sagamores,  Quan- 
ansit,  Apequinash,  and  Mawtamps.  One, 


THE  ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP    239 

with  bound  hands,  was  plainly  a  prisoner. 
With  few  words  the  visitors  seated  them- 
selves, following  the  example  of  Philip  and 
his  captains,  and  pipes  were  lighted.  Then 
Quanansit  spoke. 

They  had  fought  with  the  English  and  had 
killed  many.  The  English  were  retreating 
to  the  garrison  at  Brookfield,  pursued  by 
nearly  two  hundred  Quaboags.  This  man, 
Memecho,  they  had  taken  prisoner.  He  had 
guided  the  enemy  and  fought  on  his  side. 
They  made  a  present  of  him  to  the  Great 
Sachem  of  the  Wampanoags.  It  had  hap- 
pened thus.  The  English  at  Brookfield  had 
sought  a  parley  with  the  Quaboags,  wishful 
of  exacting  a  promise  from  them  of  friend- 
ship. The  Indians  had  thereupon  agreed  to 
meet  a  company  of  the  English,  headed  by 
Captain  Wheeler  and  Captain  Hutchinson, 
at  a  certain  place  three  miles  from  the  vil- 
lage that  morning.  The  English  had  sought 
the  locality,  and  not  finding  the  Quaboags, 
who  knew  better  than  to  expose  themselves 
on  the  plain,  had  set  forth  toward  Wicka- 
baug  Pond,  guided  by  three  Christian  In- 
dians, amongst  them  this  Memecho.  When 
their  way  had  led  them  between  a  swamp  on 
one  side  and  a  high  bluff  on  the  other,  the 


24o         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

Quaboags,  lying  in  wait,  had  attacked.  Eight 
of  the  English  had  fallen  at  the  first  fire,  and 
three  more  had  been  wounded  so  that  they 
must  die.  Of  these  was  Captain  Hutchinson. 
The  English  had  fought  back  for  a  time,  and 
then,  finding  themselves  like  to  be  extermi- 
nated by  a  foe  they  could  scarce  see,  had  re- 
treated toward  the  garrison,  pursued  by  the 
Quaboags.  Of  the  latter  none  had  been  killed 
and  but  few  wounded. 

"How  many  were  in  their  company?** 
asked  King  Philip. 

"  Twenty,  all  mounted  on  horses,  and  the 
three  Indians,"  answered  Quanansit. 

"  How  many  are  in  the  village  ?  " 

"  We  do  not  know,  for  some  have  come  of 
late  to  aid  them.  Yet  no  more  than  eighty 
in  all,  we  think." 

"  Good,  Quanansit !  Let  none  escape. 
Send  a  messenger  to  the  Wachoosett  saga- 
more, Woosonametipom,  and  bid  him  bring 
forward  all  his  warriors.  Encompass  the  vil- 
lage that  none  may  leave  or  enter.  At  night- 
fall I  will  come  also  and  when  darkness  hides 
us  we  will  attack.  Leave  one  here  to  serve  as 
guide  to  me,  Quanansit." 

"  This  man  will  I  leave,  Philip.  His  name 
is  Wompatannawa,  a  captain  of  the  Niantics, 


THE  ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP    241 

and  he  knows  all  paths  and  will  guide  you 
straightly." 

"  Good.  And  now,  that  you  have  done 
wisely  and  bravely,  to  you  and  to  Apequinash 
and  to  Mawtamps  I  will  make  presents.  I  am 
poor,  for  the  enemy  has  burned  my  village 
and  sacked  my  lodges,  but  one  treasure  I 
still  have.  Give  me  a  knife,  Caleb." 

Thereupon,  removing  his  wampum  coat, 
Philip  cut  three  pieces  from  it,  each  contain- 
ing near  a  peck  of  wampum,  and  gave  the 
pieces  to  the  three  sagamores.  The  Indian 
Caleb  observed  the  act  frowningly  and  when 
Philip  would  have  returned  his  knife  he  said : 
"  I,  too,  have  served,  O  Philip.  Is  there  no 
reward  for  me?  " 

The  sachem  gravely  picked  a  single  wam- 
pum bead  from  the  garment  and  handed  it 
to  him.  "  I  reward  according  to  your  desert, 
O  Caleb.  This  for  your  bravery  in  battle.  It 
was  but  a  few  smokes  since  that  I  saw  you 
kill  a  fly." 

In  the  laugh  that  followed,  Caleb  angrily 
ground  the  wampum  bead  into  the  earth 
with  his  heel. 

Food  was  brought  to  the  Quaboags  and 
afterwards  they  smoked,  but  before  that  one 
of  their  number,  disencumbering  himself  of 


242          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

his  musket,  had  set  forth  through  the  forest 
to  bear  King  Philip's  command  to  Woosona- 
metipom.  When  the  afternoon  was  half 
spent,  the  visitors,  all  save  him  they  called 
Wompatannawa,  took  their  departure,  and 
Philip's  company  began  their  preparations 
for  the  attack  on  the  garrison  at  Brookfield, 
some  six  miles  distant,  looking  to  their  wea- 
pons and  ammunition,  painting  their  bod- 
ies afresh  and  filling  their  pouches  with 
rations  of  parched  corn  or  dried  fish.  Two 
medicine  men  gravely  made  incantations 
about  a  circle  drawn  in  the  earth  wherein 
lay  strange  objects;  a  human  hand,  dried 
and  colored  like  the  root  of  a  tree,  some  col- 
ored pebbles,  a  string  of  wampum  twisted 
about  an  arrow,  the  feet  of  a  crow  tied  to- 
gether with  a  red  yarn,  and  other  things. 
They  chanted  monotonously  in  low  voices 
and  stamped  the  earth,  and  sometimes  turned 
their  bodies  about  slowly  with  their  arms  up- 
stretched  to  the  brazen  sky.  Philip  had  re- 
turned to  his  wigwam  for  slumber,  but  Caleb 
sat  disconsolately  and  moodily  outside  and 
with  his  knife  whittled  at  a  bit  of  wood.  To 
him  presently  came  the  Nipmuck,  Wom- 
patannawa, and  sat  beside  him  and  talked. 
Later  the  stranger  arose  and  idly  wandered 


THE  ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP    243 

about  the  village,  strictly  observing  the  eti- 
quette which  forbade  any  semblance  of 
curiosity.  Presently  in  his  wanderings  he 
drew  near  to  the  cedar  tree  against  which  a 
brown  body  was  held  with  thongs  of  deer- 
hide  and  rope.  Idly  the  stranger  looked, 
and  then,  spitting  toward  the  captive,  turned 
his  back  and  went  on.  This,  since  his  eyes 
were  closed,  the  bound  youth  did  not  see. 

The  sun  hung  for  a  while  above  the  forest 
trees  in  the  west  and  then  sank  from  sight. 
A  few  fires  sent  pencils  of  blue  smoke  straight 
aloft  into  the  purpling  twilight.  The  dogs, 
arousing  from  their  somnolence,  began  their 
prowling  and  snarling.  Food  was  eaten  and 
water  drank.  King  Philip,  no  longer  be- 
decked with  his  wampum  coat,  emerged  from 
his  lodge  and  drew  his  counselors  about  him. 
A  cool  air  came  out  of  the  southwest  and  the 
hovering  hordes  of  insects  disappeared.  That 
refreshing  breath  caused  David's  eyelids  to 
flutter,  and  presently  a  long  sigh  passed  his 
lips  and  a  tremor  passed  through  his  body. 
His  eyes  opened  slowly  and  reason,  restored 
by  the  long  period  of  unconsciousness,  dwelt 
again  in  his  aching  brain.  Before  him  the 
encampment  showed  unaccustomed  activity 
in  the  deepening  twilight.  Lodges  were  de- 


244         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

serted  and  all  the  warriors  were  gathered  near 
the  center  of  the  island,  armed  and  freshly 
painted.  Of  the  number  no  more  than  thirty 
bore  guns,  the  boy  observed.  Even  as  he  be- 
gan to  sense  what  such  activity  indicated, 
the  Indians  moved  away  toward  the  swamp, 
led  by  one  whose  slim  height  and  grace 
aroused  the  ghost  of  memory  in  his  tired 
mind.  Silently  the  warriors  passed  into  the 
twilight  of  the  swamp,  a  sinister  train  of  dark 
bodies  merging  with  the  shadows  of  the  reeds 
and  bushes.  The  last  faint  pat  of  footsteps 
died  away  and  an  eerie  stillness  descended 
on  the  island.  Occasionally  a  rustling 
sounded  from  the  thicket  beyond  as  a  bird 
stirred  or  a  prowling  mink  or  weasel  sought 
the  morass.  After  a  while  a  great  frog  be- 
gan his  gruff  song.  The  light  faded  from  the 
summer  sky  and  coolness  brought  relief  to 
the  hot,  aching  body  and  parched  mouth  of 
the  boy.  Hope  revived  in  his  breast.  That 
King  Philip  had  spared  him  so  long  argued 
well,  he  believed,  for  ultimate  freedom.  He 
doubted  not  that  the  fagots  at  his  feet  would 
have  been  lighted  had  not  some  diversion, 
dimly  recalled,  interrupted  the  sachem's  in- 
tent. The  departure  of  the  company,  armed 
and  in  war-paint,  could  mean  but  one  thing, 


THE  ISLAND  IN  THE  SWAMP    245 

battle  with  the  English,  and  David  prayed 
fervently  that  Philip  would  be  defeated  and 
his  band  scattered.  And  then:  "Aye,  but 
what  will  be  my  fate  in  such  case  ?  "  he  asked 
himself.  "  None  know  of  my  plight  save 
these  Indians,  and  hence  none  will  come  to 
release  me!  I  doubt  I  can  survive  another 
day  of  this  torture.  It  seems  that  whatever 
happens  I  am  doomed !  " 

The  realization  produced  a  panic  of  mind 
that  set  him  writhing  and  twisting  at  his 
bonds  and  accomplishing  naught  save  to  add 
to  his  pain  and  exhaustion.  At  last,  discour- 
aged, limp  and  panting,  he  gave  up,  and  at 
that  moment  a  voice  came  to  him  through 
the  darkness. 

"Brother!" 

After  an  instant  of  surprise,  David  an- 
swered, hope  rushing  into  his  heart  again. 
"  Who  calls  ?  "  he  cried  eagerly. 

"  Memecho."  The  voice  seemed  to  come 
from  some  distance.  "  Who  are  you  and  why 
are  you  bound  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  David  Lindall.  This  morn- 
ing Philip's  men  captured  me  near  here.  I 
was  seeking  the  garrison  at  Brookfield.  For 
a  month,  may  be,  I  have  been  held  hostage 
by  the  Wachoosetts." 


246         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  Aye,  I  know  of  you,  brother.  Monapikot, 
a  Pegan,  has  told  us  your  story." 

"  Monapikot !   He  is  hereabouts  ?  " 

"  I  said  not  so."  The  Indian  lowered  his 
voice.  "  Better  it  is  to  talk  little,  David,  for 
we  know  not  who  hears." 

"  You  are  a  friend  ?  Will  you  not  cut 
these  cords  of  mine,  Memecho?  " 

"  Aye,  so  soon  as  you  cut  mine !  I  cannot 
help  you,  brother,  for  I  am  both  bound  and 
wounded." 

David's  heart  sank.  And  yet  even  the 
presence  and  the  voice  of  a  friend  was  some- 
thing to  be  thankful  for,  and  after  a  moment 
he  said: 

"  I  grieve  for  you,  Memecho.  How  hap- 
pened this  wound  ?  " 

"  I  fought  with  the  English  by  Wickabaug 
Pond  some  hours  ago.  They  sought  the  Qua- 
boags  to  make  a  treaty  with  them  and  were 
set  upon  in  ambush  and  had  many  killed 
and  wounded.  I,  who  led  the  English  cap- 
tains, was  shot  in  the  first  volley  from  the 
swamp  beside  me,  and,  when  I  had  fallen, 
could  not  follow  back  along  the  path  and  so 
was  taken  and  brought  hither." 

"  Is  your  wound  of  consequence,  bro- 
ther?" 


THE   ISLAND   IN  THE  SWAMP    247 

"  Nay,  'twill  heal  if  it  be  given  time,  but 
my  arm  is  of  no  use  to  me." 

"  You  say  the  English  had  many  killed, 
Memecho?  And  what  happened  at  last?  " 

"  They  went  back,  still  fighting,  to  the  gar- 
rison, the  Quaboags  pursuing.  Now  they  are 
beset  by  my  people  in  great  number  and  un- 
less help  come  must  perish." 

"  Is  there  help  near,  Memecho  ?  " 

"  Tis  said  that  Major  Willard  has  half  a 
hundred  soldiers  under  him  at  Lancaster, 
on  the  Nashua,  thirty  miles  away.  Yet  un- 
less word  be  taken  to  him  what  means  it? 
One  who  sought  to  go  at  Captain  Wheeler's 
command  was  killed  ere  he  had  ridden  an 
arrow's  flight.  And  now,  since  the  village  is 
surrounded,  none  may  pass  out." 

"  Had  I  but  my  freedom !  "  groaned  Da- 
vid. 

"  Or  I  mine,"  said  the  Indian. 

"  How  happens  it  that  you  talk  my  lan- 
guage so  well,  Memecho?  "  asked  the  boy, 
after  a  moment's  silence. 

"  I  am  of  the  Praying  Village  at  Chabana- 
kongkomun,  a  Christian  like  yourself,  Da- 
vid. I  have  learned  to  speak  your  languag* 
and  to  read  and  write  it,  though  the  writir? 
is  hard  for  me.  I  teach  my  brothers,  or  so 


248         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

did  I  until  this  infidel  Philip  pillaged  and 
drove  us  forth.  It  may  be  now  —  what  sound 
was  that?  " 

David  listened.  "  I  heard  nothing,  Meme- 
cho.  Whither  came  it?  " 

"Be  still,  brother!" 

And  then  David  himself  heard.  From  a 
little  distance  came  the  crackling  of  a  twig, 
a  tiny  sound  enough,  but  momentous  to 
those  who  hearkened.  Silence  followed.  Da- 
vid strained  his  ears.  It  might  well  be  no 
more  than  a  beast  of  the  forest,  and  yet  hope 
told  another  tale.  After  what  seemed  a  long 
time,  a  swishing  sound  in  the  rushes  nearer 
at  hand  turned  his  eyes  sharply  to  the  left. 
At  first  naught  was  to  be  seen  in  the  gray 
darkness.  Then,  vague,  formless,  something 
emerged  from  the  gloom  close  beside  him. 


CHAPTER  XX 
DAVID  BEARS  A  MESSAGE 

"  NOAWAMA !  " 

"  Pikot!  "  gasped  David. 

"  Softly !  "  answered  the  voice  of  the  In- 
dian, now  beside  him.  "Speak  little  and 
hearken  much.  There  is  little  time  for  talk." 
Monapikot's  knife  slashed  the  thongs  that 
held  David,  and  then,  as  the  boy  would  have 
fallen  without  their  support,  took  him  into 
his  arms  and  laid  him  gently  on  the  ground. 
"  Rest,"  he  whispered,  "  for  there  is  a  jour- 
ney before  you.  I  will  return  after  a  min- 


ute." 


The  Pegan  stole  away  and  David  heard 
the  murmuring  of  voices  where  Memecho  lay. 
Presently  both  Indians  were  beside  him  and 
Monapikot  lifted  him  to  his  feet.  "  Can  you 
walk,  David?  "  he  asked. 

David  tried,  but  would  have  fallen  save 
for  the  other's  hold  on  him.  "  Slowly,"  bade 
the  Pegan.  "  Put  your  weight  on  my  shoul- 
der and  try  again,  Noawama." 

In  this  manner,  with  Memecho  following, 


250         METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

David  left  the  marsh  island.  Gradually  the 
use  of  his  limbs  returned  to  him,  although 
each  nerve  and  muscle  ached  intolerably  and 
movement  sent  his  head  to  spinning.  But 
presently  they  were  on  dry  ground  in  a  forest 
of  great  trees  widely  spaced,  and  there  they 
halted. 

Monapikot  spoke.  "  The  garrison  is  in 
sore  danger,  my  brothers,  and  aid  must  come 
soon.  These  plans  had  I  made.  Westward, 
at  Hadley,  are  two  English  captains  with 
many  men.  I  meant  to  go  thither  and  sum- 
mon them.  To  the  north  and  east  is  Major 
Willard,  if  report  be  true,  by  a  place  called 
Lancaster.  To  him  would  I  have  sent  you, 
Memecho.  But  now  I  know  not,  for  with 
your  wound  you  are  not  fit  to  go." 

"  I  will  try,  Monapikot,"  answered  Meme- 
cho sturdily,  but  with  a  voice  that  told  of 
suffering. 

"  Nay,"  broke  in  David  eagerly,  "  give  me 
directions  for  the  journey,  Pikot!  Tis  but 
thirty  miles  and  surely  I  can  win  there  by 
dawn!  My  strength  is  already  returned, 
Pikot.  Memecho  is  not  fit  for  the  task.  Say 
I  may  go !  " 

"  Aye,  my  brother,  for  I  but  waited  for 
your  word.  Go,  then,  and  when  you  have 


DAVID  BEARS  A  MESSAGE      251 

found  this  English  major  say  to  him  that 
Monapikot  of  the  Pegans  bids  him  come  in 
all  haste.  Say  to  him  that  the  garrison  at 
Brookfield  numbers  less  than  a  hundred  and 
is  beseiged  by  four  times  that  many.  Say  to 
him  that  the  English  may  hold  out  until  the 
day  after  the  morrow,  but  no  later,  and  that 
I  go  to  Hadley  to  ask  relief  of  Captain 
Lothrop.  From  the  pond  that  lies  a  league 
north  leads  a  stream  and  beside  it  runs  the 
path  you  must  follow.  When  you  have  trav- 
eled three  leagues  farther  the  stream  will  be 
a  river.  That  is  the  Nashua,  David,  and  it 
will  bring  you  to  Lancaster  village.  By  day 
your  journey  may  be  made  more  short,  but 
in  darkness  'tis  better  to  let  the  river  show 
the  way.  Here  is  food,  though  scanty.  Seek 
not  to  haste  at  first,  Noawama,  but  let  your 
strength  return.  Are  you  thirsty?  " 

"Aye,  my  throat  is  parched,  indeed, 
Straight  Arrow." 

"  Water  you  will  find  but  a  little  way  from 
here,  but  do  not  drink  deeply.  Take  but 
enough  to  cool  your  throat.  Go  now,  for 
time  passes.  Wait!  Take  this  knife.  I  can 
offer  no  more." 

"  But  you,  Pikot?  Will  you  not  need  it?  " 

"  Nay,  I  shall  find  another  ere  my  journey 


252          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

is  well  begun,"  replied  the  Pegan  grimly. 
"  Farewell,  Noawama !  God  watch  over 
you." 

"  Farewell,  Pikot.  We  shall  meet  again  in 
two  days !  " 

"Be  it  so.   Come,  Memecho." 

With  a  last  glance  toward  the  Indians  in 
the  starlight  gloom  of  the  forest,  David 
turned  and  sought  the  trail.  Slowly  he  went 
at  first,  for,  despite  his  protestation  to  Pikot, 
his  limbs  were  still  unequal  to  their  task.  As 
the  Indian  had  promised,  his  way  crossed 
a  small  brook  but  a  few  rods  beyond  and 
the  boy  knelt  and  let  the  water  dwell  grate- 
fully in  his  mouth,  but,  heeding  Pikot's 
warning,  took  but  a  swallow  of  it  ere  he 
arose  and  went  on  again.  The  path  was  ill- 
defined  in  the  darkness  and  was  seemingly 
little  used,  but  only  once  did  he  wander  from 
it  and  then  speedily  found  it  again.  And  so, 
his  strength  growing  each  moment,  he  came 
at  last  to  the  pond  he  sought. 

It  was  small,  and  he  had  soon  reached  the 
upper  end  of  it,  from  which  led  a  quiet, 
meandering  stream.  On  the  western  bank,  a 
rude  trail  followed  the  brook  on  its  north- 
ward flow.  There  was  little  water  between 
the  low  banks,  for  the  summer  had  been 


DAVID  BEARS  A  MESSAGE      253 

hot  and  dry,  and  for  stretches  David  found 
the  parched,  sun-cracked  margin  of  the 
stream  offering  better  footing  than  the  path. 
After  an  hour  stream  and  trail  both  widened 
and  bore  eastward.  The  necessity  for  caution 
and  the  roughness  of  the  path  had  thus  far 
precluded  speed,  but  now,  when  the  brook 
had  flowed  into  a  second  pond  and  emerged 
more  worthy  the  name  of  river,  David  found 
himself  able  to  take  up  the  swinging  trot  he 
had  learned  from  the  savages.  Unlike  them, 
however,  he  could  not  maintain  that  pace 
for  long,  and  soon  he  was  obliged  to  fall  back 
to  a  walk.  During  the  first  portion  of  his 
journey  he  rested  frequently,  throwing  him- 
self full-length  on  the  ground  and  relaxing 
his  tired  body,  but  as  time  wore  on  his  power 
of  endurance  seemed  to  grow  rather  than 
diminish  and  rest  became  less  imperative  un- 
til well  toward  the  end.  He  kept  eyes  and 
ears  constantly  on  guard,  for  this  was  a  well- 
traveled  path  that  he  followed  and  at  any 
moment  he  might  encounter  foes,  and  it  was 
well  that  he  did  so,  for,  near  midnight  as  he 
judged  it  to  be,  some  sense,  whether  of  sight 
or  hearing  he  knew  not,  warned  him  of  dan- 
ger and  he  drew  quickly  aside  into  the  thicket 
and  crouched  silently  in  the  darkness.  A 


254          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

moment  later,  with  scarce  a  sound,  the  form 
of  an  Indian  came  into  sight  against  the  sky, 
traveling  westward,  the  body  bent  forward 
and  the  arms  trailing  in  the  tireless  trot  of 
his  kind.  At  intervals  of  a  few  paces  four 
others  followed.  Unsuspecting  and  looking 
neither  to  left  nor  right,  the  savages  passed 
swiftly  along  the  trail  and  were  gone.  For 
some  minutes  David  waited  in  concealment. 
Then  he  went  on  again. 

That  was  not  the  only  alarm,  for  an  hour 
or  so  later,  where  the  stream  and  path  led 
through  a  long  swamp  of  alder  and  willow 
and  rustling  cattail,  a  sudden  floundering  and 
splashing  but  a  few  yards  distant  brought 
his  heart  to  his  mouth  and  held  him  for  a 
long  moment  motionless  on  the  path.  But 
this  alarm  presaged  no  danger,  for  the  sound 
was  only  that  of  some  huge  animal,  probably 
a  moose,  disturbed  and  in  flight.  Occasion- 
ally river  and  trail  parted  company,  as  when 
the  former  cut  its  way  through  a  narrow 
gorge  of  slaty  rock  and  the  latter  mounted 
a  little  hill  where,  against  the  starlight, 
laurel  and  sweet-fern  grew  abundantly.  But 
always  they  came  together  again  sooner  or 
later,  and  never  was  he  for  more  than  a  mo- 
ment or  two  out  of  sound  of  the  river's  mur- 


DAVID  BEARS  A  MESSAGE      255 

mur  and  gurgle.  Weariness  was  claiming 
him  now  as,  ahead  of  him,  the  night  sky 
began  to  light  above  the  mysterious  hills. 
Slumber  called  him  and  it  needed  all  his 
courage  and  determination  to  resist  its  al- 
luring voice.  Perhaps  it  was  only  the  knowl- 
edge of  what  his  mission  meant  to  the  be- 
leaguered inhabitants  of  the  garrison  back 
there  at  Brookfield  that  kept  him  somehow 
on  his  aching  feet  to  the  end.  The  last  three 
hours  of  that  journey  became  a  waking  night- 
mare of  which,  afterwards,  he  could  recall 
little  beyond  the  sheer  suffering  that  he  un- 
derwent. Dawn  came  up  slowly  out  of  the 
east  and  found  him  skirting  a  great  forest 
of  pines  and  hemlocks.  The  gray  lightness 
showed  his  uncertain  sight  a  cluster  of  cabins 
that  dotted  the  plain  ahead.  A  rude  stockade 
fort  caught  the  first  yellow  glint  of  the  sun  on 
its  newly  peeled  logs.  The  river  turned  and 
left  him  to  struggle  on  by  a  side  path  through 
coarse  grass  and  trailing  briers  that  caught  at 
his  faltering  feet  and  thrice  sent  him  sprawl- 
ing to  the  dewy  earth.  Each  time  it  took 
great  toll  of  his  strength  to  lift  himself  again 
and  stagger  on.  And  then  the  log  wall  of  a 
little  house  suddenly  barred  his  way  and  in 
the  midst  of  a  great  feeling  of  thankfulness 


256          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

he  felt  his  way  to  the  door  and,  dropping  to 
the  stone  step  below,  beat  weakly  on  the  stout 
oak  planks. 

There  they  found  him  a  minute  or  two 
later  when,  doubtfully,  they  unbarred  the 
door  and  peered  out.  He  was  sound  asleep 
then,  but  as  willing  hands  lifted  him  across 
the  threshold  he  awakened  startledly. 

"Major  Willard?"  he  whispered.  "I 
bring  a  message  to  him  from  Brookfield. 
He  — is  here?" 

"  Nay,  but  close  by.  Give  me  your  mes- 
sage and  I  will  bear  it,  lad." 

"  Monapikot,  the  Pegan,  bids  him  haste 
to  Brookfield.  The  Indians  have  attacked. 
Many  English  are  slain.  The  garrison  is  be- 
sieged—  by  four  hundred  or  more.  Philip 
leads  them."  David's  voice  faltered.  "  There 
is  more,  but  I  —  forget !  "  His  head  fell  back 
and  he  slept  again. 

An  hour  only  they  gave  him,  and  then  he 
awoke  to  find  the  small  room  with  its  homely 
and  scanty  furnishings,  so  like  his  own  home, 
filled  with  grave-faced  men.  One  in  soldier's 
accouterment  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  pallet, 
a  lean-countenanced  man  whose  long, 
straight  nose  and  wide-set  eyes  spoke  cour- 
age and  wisdom. 


DAVID  BEARS  A  MESSAGE      257 

"Now,  lad,  your  name  and  story,  and 
quickly,"  he  said  with  kindly  imperiousness. 

David  gathered  his  scattered  faculties  and 
answered,  and  while  he  spoke  those  who  had 
gathered  close  to  listen  murmured  their  sur- 
prise, horror,  indignation,  and,  when  it  had 
become  evident  that  the  boy  on  the  pallet  had 
traveled  that  trail  in  some  ten  hours,  admira- 
tion. 

"  Well  done,  in  sooth !  "  exclaimed  Major 
Simon  Willard  heartily  when  David  had 
ended.  "  You  are  a  brave  boy,  David,  and 
there  is  one  not  far  who  will  be  prouder  of 
your  courage  than  I!  Bide  you  here  and 
rest  you,  lad.  Mistress  Farwell  will  look  to 
your  wants  and  when  we  return  you  shall  be 
sent  safely  to  your  home.  Unless,  mayhap, 
your  father  has  other  views.  That  we  shall 
determine  later."  He  turned  to  the  others 
and  sprang  to  his  feet.  "You  have  heard, 
masters !  To  horse,  then,  and  let  us  push  for- 
ward, for  the  road  is  long  and  our  presence 
is  sore  needed.  I  give  you  good-day,  young 
sir!" 

"  Nay,  sir,  an  it  please  you,"  cried  David, 
clutching  at  the  Major's  doublet.  "  Take  me 
with  you,  I  beg.  I  can  fight,  sir !  And  I  am 
well  and  strong  again,  now  that  I  have  slept." 


258          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  Nay,  my  lad,  methinks  you  have  earned 
a  season  of  rest  as  well  as  our  gratitude. 
Bide  you  here.  Doubtless  Mistress  Farwell 
will  find  you  Christian  apparel  of  sorts.  And 
that  were  well  since  your  present  state  is 
like  to  fright  the  maids  out  o'  their  wits !  " 

The  Major  smiled  and  turned  away.  Al- 
ready the  room  was  empty  save  for  a  few, 
and  through  an  open  casement  David  could 
see  the  company  preparing  to  mount. 

"  Sir,  the  odds  be  greatly  against  us  at 
Brookfield,  for  Philip  and  the  sagamores  who 
fight  with  him  have  fully  four  hundred  sav- 
ages against  much  less  than  a  hundred  of  the 
English,  and  I  am  no  poor  hand  with  a  mus- 
ket." David  interposed  himself  between  the 
soldier  and  the  door  and  spoke  earnestly. 
"  Every  one  who  can  fight  will  be  needed,  sir. 
I  pray  you  provide  me  with  a  musket  and 
let  me  return  with  you." 

Major  Willard  frowned.  "  Tis  plain  your 
perseverance  has  survived  the  task  you  set  it, 
David,  but  I  doubt  your  father  would  look 
kindly  on  me  were  I  to  grant  your  request. 
Besides,  horses  are  few  —  " 

"  I  can  go  afoot,"  exclaimed  David  eagerly. 

"  Nor  am  I  certain  that  a  musket  could  be 
found  for  you." 


DAVID  BEARS  A  MESSAGE      259 

"  Then  will  I  fight  with  bow  and  arrows, 
sir!" 

Major  Willard  threw  his  hands  apart  and 
laughed  shortly.  "  Do  as  you  will.  An  you 
can  fight  as  you  argue  'twere  a  pity  to  leave 
you  behind!  But  I  take  no  blame,  young 
sir,  and  so  you  must  tell  your  father.  And  if 
he  says  you  nay,  count  not  on  me  for  sup- 
port. Now  I  will  find  if  there  be  a  horse  for 
you.  Mistress  Farwell,  give  this  lad  food 
and  speed  him  forth." 

lt  What  meant  he  by  my  father  saying  me 
nay?  "  David  asked  himself  as  he  drew  a 
stool  to  the  table  and  the  food  laid  thereon 
by  his  hostess.  "  Tis  far  from  likely  that 
he  will  know  aught  about  it  until  I  return 
home,  by  which  time  his  yea  or  nay  will  mat- 
ter little,  methinks !  " 

He  ate  quickly  of  the  food,  fearful  lest  the 
company  be  off  without  him,  unconscious  of 
the  curious  glances  cast  upon  him  by  the  chil- 
dren gathered  without  the  open  door.  Nor, 
indeed,  was  he  aware  of  their  presence  there 
until,  thrust  from  behind,  they  flowed  into 
the  house.  This  small  commotion  drew  his 
eyes  from  the  window,  and  in  the  next  in- 
stant he  was  on  his  feet,  staring  unbeliev- 
ingly at  the  two  men  who  came  quickly 
through  the  portal. 


"FATHER!" 

David's  startled  cry  drowned  the  sound  of 
the  overturned  stool  as  he  sprang  toward  the 
foremost  of  the  two  men. 

"  Aye,  David,"  answered  Nathan  Lindall 
in  his  quiet  voice,  taking  the  boy  into  his 
arms  with  a  mighty  hug.  "  Art  well  ?  " 

"  But  —  but  how  happens  it  you  are 
here?  "  stammered  David.  "  Is  it  really  you? 
I  can  scarce  believe  my  eyes!  And  Obid, 
too!" 

"  What  be  left  o'  me,"  replied  Obid  Daw- 
kin  grimly. 

But  he  smiled  as  David  took  his  hand  and 
threw  an  arm  over  his  shoulders,  and  there 
was  a  suspicious  moistness  in  his  pale  eyes 
for  some  moments  after. 

"  'Tis  a  long  story,  lad,"  Nathan  Lindall 
was  saying,  "  and  'twill  keep  till  we  be  on 
our  way;  for  Major  Willard  tells  me  that 
naught  will  do  but  that  you  must  accompany 


TO  THE  RESCUE  261 

us.  So,  if  you  have  finished  your  repast,  we 
will  be  going.  I  would  never  have  known 
you,  David,  in  this  guise  had  I  met  you  on 
the  trail.  Does  he  not  make  a  fine  young 
brave,  Obid?  " 

;<  I  grant  you,"  answered  Obid  sourly,  eye- 
ing the  boy  askance,  "  but  I'd  as  lief  he  aped 
the  Devil  himself,  master.  I've  seen  enough 
of  the  ungodly  cannibals  without  having  one 
in  the  family !  " 

Laughing,  Nathan  Lindall,  an  arm  still 
about  his  son's  shoulders,  thanked  Mistress 
Farwell  and  led  the  way  outside.    A  few 
minutes  later  the  company  set  forth.   Four 
friendly  Indians  led  the  way.  Of  these  one, 
as  David  noted  with  surprise,  was  his  old 
acquaintance,  Joe  Tanopet,  still  wearing  his 
green    waistcoat.    The    Indians    were   un- 
mounted.   Behind  them,  in  company  with 
two  younger  officers,  rode  Major  Willard,  a 
fine  and  martial  figure  on  his  white  steed. 
Followed  the  company  of  dragoons,  each 
man  fully  armed  with  musket  and  baldric. 
Some  wore,  besides,  a  hunting-knife  thrust 
into  a  leather  belt.  In  all  the  company  num- 
bered fifty-three.   David  had  been  supplied 
with  a  horse,  a  small,  flea-bitten  gray  mare 
with  a  dejected  mien,  and  musket  and  am- 


262          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

munition.  It  was  shortly  after  eight  o'clock 
when  the  little  force  left  Lancaster  and,  ford- 
ing the  river  above  the  settlement,  took  a 
broad  trail  into  the  west,  which,  more  direct 
than  that  following  the  stream,  nevertheless 
proved  later  to  be  a  most  arduous  one,  cross- 
ing many  hills  and  floundering  through  quag- 
mires innumerable. 

But  David  had  little  thought  for  the  road, 
for  there  was  much  to  learn  and  to  tell,  and 
when  the  trail  allowed  he  rode  his  mare 
close  to  his  father's  side  and  listened  or 
talked.  Nathan  Lindall  told  of  the  journey 
with  Master  Vernham  and  others  to  the 
Wachoosett  village  and  of  its  unsatisfactory 
result. 

"  Metipom  received  us  as  friends  and  gave 
a  feast  in  our  honor,  but  we  were  not  de- 
ceived. Yet  none  would  say  that  they  had 
seen  aught  of  you,  though  Tanopet  spoke 
aside  with  many  of  the  tribe.  In  the  end, 
finding  no  trace  of  you,  we  must  needs  de- 
part with  what  grace  we  might,  although 
William  Vernham  was  for  enticing  the  sa- 
chem outside  the  palisade  and  making  pris- 
oner of  him,  a  fanciful  plan  that  we  would 
not  countenance.  Had  I  not  been  assured 
that  no  harm  would  befall  you  so  long  as 


TO  THE  RESCUE  263 

Metipom's  son  went  scatheless,  I  should  have 
returned  with  an  armed  force  and  brought 
things  to  a  head.  But,  as  circumstances 
stood,  for  the  Council  at  Boston  would  not 
countenance  aught  likely  to  interrupt  the 
existing  friendship  between  the  Wachoosett 
tribe  and  the  English,  it  seemed  better  to 
wait.  I  will  not  say,  lad,  that  I  was  not 
troubled  for  you,  and  when  Monapikot 
brought  word  that  he  had  seen  and  talked 
with  you  and  that  you  were  well  I  was 
greatly  relieved." 

"  He  gave  you  my  message,  father?  " 
"  Aye,  lad,  but  two  days  later." 
"  I  could  not  understand  Pikot's  presence 
there  with  those  others,  father,  nor  do  I  yet. 
'Twas  hard  to  believe  him  not  a  traitor,  since 
they  fetched  with  them  the  dried  heads  of 
two  of  our  people  and  sought  to  embroil 
Metipom  in  Philip's  quarrel." 
"  He  did  not  tell  you,  then?  " 
"He  said  only  that  I  must  trust  him, 
which  I  did,  though  not  without  misgiving." 
"  He  keeps  a  secret  well,  but  now  that  you 
have  so  well  proved  yourself,  David,  I  see 
no  reason  why  you  should  not  know  the  truth 
about  the  Pegan.  You  may  remove  all  sus- 
picion of  him  from  your  mind,  my  son,  for 


264          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

Monapikot  is  a  true  and  tried  friend  of  the 
Colony,  more  trusted  than  any  other  of  his 
race.    Indeed,  never  since  the  days  of  the 
Pequot  War  has  there  been  known  a  spy  of 
such  courage  and  wisdom." 
"A  spy!  Pikotaspy?" 
"  Aye,  does  it  surprise  you  so?  " 
"  I  had  not  thought,"  stammered  David. 
"  And  it  sorrows  me.  Always  I  have  thought 
of  a  spy  as  one  base  and  mean  and  unwor- 
thy, and  to  think  so  of  Monapikot  —  " 

"  A  spy  is  base  only  when  he  be  appre- 
hended," replied  Nathan  Lindall  dryly.  "  Is 
it  right  to  call  one  mean  who  takes  far 
greater  risks  than  any  other  and  for  no  more 
return  ?  He  who  fights  in  open  combat  may 
look  for  honorable  treatment  if  capturefl, 
but  the  spy  well  knows  that  speedy  death  is 
aught  he  may  win  in  such  case.  Nay,  David, 
Monapikot  deserves  your  praise  and  not  your 
censure.  No  better  nor  more  useful  friend 
have  the  English  to-day,  for  his  ways  of 
learning  what  we  would  know  are  many  and 
marvelous.  For  several  years  he  has  served 
the  Colony  and  never  yet  has  he  failed  at 
aught  he  has  been  set  to  do.  I  hold  it  a 
miracle  that  he  has  so  far  escaped,  for  a 
dozen  times  has  he  put  his  head  in  the  lion's 


TO  THE  RESCUE  265 

mouth,  as  when,  but  last  month,  he  visited 
King  Philip's  village  at  Pocasset  and  brought 
back  news  of  that  infidel's  intent.  But  to 
continue  my  story. 

'  This  Nausauwah,  son  of  Metipom,  was 
lately  brought  to  trial,  and,  although  the  evi- 
dence against  him  was  not  pressed  lest  the  re- 
sult should  be  his  death  and  your  undoing,  yet 
he  was  adjudged  a  menace  and  deported  to 
one  of  the  islands  in  Boston  Harbor,  there  to 
be  held  until  peace  is  restored.  Fearing  the 
news  of  this  would  reach  Metipom  and  that 
he  would  wreak  vengeance  on  you,  I  applied 
to  the  Council  for  assistance  and,  as  Pikot 
had  brought  word  of  the  Wachoosetts'  dis- 
affection, Major  Willard  was  instructed  to 
go  to  their  village,  take  prisoners,  and  rescue 
you.  To  this  end,  four  days  since,  the  Ma- 
jor's command  visited  the  Wachoosett  vil- 
lage, I  and  Obid  accompanying  them.  But 
we  found  only  a  desert.  Our  guides  soon 
found  the  signs  of  their  departure,  but  the 
trail  was  already  cold  and  pursuit  was 
deemed  ill-advised  until  we  had  added  to  our 
force.  Yesterday  twenty  more  dragoons 
joined  us  from  Groton  and  to-day  we  were 
to  have  followed  Metipom." 

"  He  lodges  near  to  Brookfield,  father,  and 


266          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

has  joined  forces  with  Philip.  I  am  fain  that 
all  who  have  proven  traitors  to  their  prom- 
ises of  good  behavior  be  punished,  father,  and 
yet  many  of  the  Wachoosett  tribe  have 
treated  me  kindly  and  it  would  grieve  me 
to  see  ill  come  to  them." 

"  Tis  difficult  in  these  times  to  pick  the 
sheep  from  the  goats,  David,"  replied  his  fa- 
ther gravely.  "  I  doubt  not  many  innocent 
will  be  punished  with  the  guilty.  I've  heard 
tell  that  at  the  Plymouth  Colony  so  incensed 
are  our  people  against  the  Indians  that  'tis 
enough  to  have  a  red  skin  to  merit  death. 
Even  about  Boston  the  people  are  strangely 
panic-stricken  and  accept  without  question 
all  the  stories,  no  matter  how  improbable, 
that  come  to  them.  Mr.  Eliot's  Indians  have 
come  under  suspicion  and  there  is  talk  of  re- 
moving them  from  the  villages  and  holding 
them  prisoners  on  some  island  in  the  harbor. 
It  is  said  that  some  have  proven  false  and 
taken  the  war-path  with  Philip.  I  do  not 
know  how  true  it  be,  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
a  great  many  are  fighting  on  our  side,  and 
methinks  they  so  even  the  matter.  Obid, 
howsomever,  declares  that  those  who  have 
taken  arms  for  the  English  do  so  but  the 
better  to  betray  us  later.  He  has  changed 


TO  THE  RESCUE  267 

none  in  his  opinion  of  the  savages  since  you 
left  us,  David."  Nathan  Lindall  smiled 
dryly. 

"  But  how  came  he  to  accompany  you, 
father?  I  had  not  thought  ever  to  see  him 
bearing  a  musket  and  going  a-soldiering!  " 

"  An  I  mistake  not,  lad,  he  is  as  surprised 
to  find  himself  where  he  is  as  you  or  I !  He 
has  no  liking  for  this  work,  but  came  out  of 
love  for  you  and  devotion  to  me,  David.  I 
think  could  he  have  had  his  way  he  would 
have  marched  alone  into  the  Wachoosett 
country  so  soon  as  you  were  stolen,  and 
sought  your  rescue !  If,  as  I  believe,  it  be  the 
rarest  courage  to  do  what  you  fear  to  do, 
then  is  Obid  the  bravest  man  I  know.  He  is 
convinced  beyond  all  argument  that  he  is 
doomed  to  be  scalped  and  so  spends  much 
time  each  day  in  the  nice  arrangement  of 
his  hair.  But  now  tell  me  of  how  affairs 
stand  at  'Brookfield.  Has  this  Sagamore- 
John  indeed  joined  up  with  Philip,  as  'tis 
rumored?  " 

"  Of  him  I  have  heard  naught,  father,  but 
I  believe  that  all  the  Nipmucks  in  that  part 
of  the  country  have  gathered  to  Philip's  aid 
or  will  do  so  shortly  unless  they  be  taught 
a  speedy  lesson." 


268          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

:'  Which  they  shall  be  taught,"  responded 
Nathan  Lindall  grimly.  "  But  I  pray  the 
garrison  may  hold  out  until  we  reach  them. 
Tis  but  slow  progress  we  make,  lad." 

At  noon  the  company  paused  a  short  while 
for  rest  and  food.  They  were  then  on  high 
land  overlooking  a  wide  and  pleasant  valley 
and  had  conquered  a  good  half  of  their  dis- 
tance. Major  Willard  summoned  his  officers 
to  him,  by  courtesy  including  Nathan  Lin- 
dall, and  plans  were  made  for  when  they 
should  approach  the  beleaguered  village. 
Whether  their  coming  was  suspected  or  not 
by  the  Indians,  they  could  not  hope  to  gain 
the  garrison's  protection  without  a  battle  un- 
less, having  halted  at  a  distance,  they 
awaited  darkness  and  entered  the  village  by 
stealth.  In  that  wise  they  might  escape  a 
serious  encounter.  Some  were  for  marching 
straight  to  the  village  by  daylight,  trusting  to 
the  notably  poor  marksmanship  of  the  In- 
dians to  win  past  without  great  loss,  but  in 
the  end  the  decision  was  to  tarry  a  mile  or  so 
away  and  send  scouts  ahead  to  learn  the  dis- 
position and  strength  of  the  foe  and  then  go 
forward  under  cover  of  darkness. 

The  last  ten  miles  of  the  way  presented 
grave  difficulties  to  them.  The  trail,  while 


TO  THE  RESCUE  269 

well  enough  for  one  afoot,  abounded  in 
swampy  stretches  too  treacherous  for  the 
horses,  and  twice  wide  detours  were  made 
that  added  distance  and  consumed  time.  Yet 
at  an  hour  before  sunset  the  company  reached 
a  position  something  above  a  mile  from  the 
village  on  the  north  and  a  halt  was  called 
where  stream  and  grass  offered  refreshment 
for  the  tired  steeds.  Thus  far  not  an  Indian 
enemy  had  been  sighted,  although,  as  Da- 
vid reckoned  it,  they  had  passed  within  a 
league  of  the  Wachoosett  encampment  and 
were  fairly  within  the  demesne  of  the  Qua- 
boags.  Two  of  the  guides  were  dispatched 
toward  Brookfield  to  reconnoiter,  while  the 
others  were  posted  on  either  side  to  prevent 
a  surprise.  Food  was  partaken  of  in  silence 
while  the  last  slanting  rays  of  sunlight  filled 
the  copse  with  mellow  beauty.  An  hour 
passed.  Then  a  distant  musket  shot  was 
heard.  Instantly  a  second  followed  it,  and 
soon  the  firing  was  fairly  continuous. 

"  The  devils  have  begun  a  new  attack," 
muttered  Major  Willard.  "I  would  our 
scouts  were  back." 

They  came  soon  after,  creeping  stealthily 
from  the  brush.  The  Indians  to  the  number 
of  three  hundred  or  more  were  disposed 


270          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

about  the  village,  they  reported,  sheltering 
in  houses  and  barns.  The  garrison  house  still 
held  out.  They  had  seen  Wampanoags,  Wa- 
choosetts,  Quaboags,  and  a  few  River  In- 
dians. King  Philip  himself  they  had  not 
descried.  The  Indians  were  armed  with  guns 
to  about  half  their  number.  Many  houses 
had  already  been  burned  and  others  were 
then  in  flames.  The  Indians  had  been  feast- 
ing and  drinking,  and  much  loot  was  as- 
sembled at  the  edge  of  the  town.  To  reach 
the  village  it  would  be  best  to  make  a  detour 
toward  the  west  and  approach  by  a  portion 
wherein  more  houses  had  been  burned  and 
where  the  enemy  found  fewer  places  of  con- 
cealment. It  might  even  be  possible  to  attain 
to  within  a  short  distance  of  the  garrison 
before  discovery  since  the  besiegers  seemed 
to  have  set  few  guards  on  any  side. 

When  twilight  had  well  deepened,  the 
guides  set  forth  again  and  the  dragoons  got 
to  saddle  and  followed.  After  a  half-mile 
march  through  forest  paths  they  halted  again. 
Eastward  the  darkening  sky  was  red  with 
the  reflection  of  the  burning  village  and  shots 
sounded  incessantly.  Now  and  then,  since 
they  had  come  to  within  no  more  than  half 
a  mile  of  the  settlement,  a  shrill,  shuddering 


TO  THE  RESCUE  271 

war-cry  reached  them  through  the  still  eve- 
ning. Fortunately  for  them,  the  sky  was  now 
overcast  and  there  was  a  feel  of  rain  in  the 
sultry  air.  Northwards,  lightning  began  to 
play  above  the  hill-tops. 

Presently  a  further  advance  was  made  in 
all  silence  and  then  the  company  dismounted 
and  the  horses  were  led  into  a  small  glade 
and  picketed.  After  which,  having  seen  to 
their  arms,  the  company  set  forth  afoot,  led 
by  the  guides,  through  the  darkness  of  early 
night  in  the  direction  of  the  flame-lit  sky. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  GARRISON 

BY  a  miracle,  as  it  seemed,  they  reached  the 
edge  of  the  woods  undetected,  and  from  there, 
pausing  a  moment,  had  their  first  view  of  the 
distressed  village.  The  firing  had  diminished 
somewhat,  though  from  the  garrison  house, 
which  stood,  readily  distinguished  in  the  light 
of  the  burning  buildings,  near  the  center  of 
the  settlement,  a  flash  now  and  then  told  of  a 
musket  shot.  Between  the  rescue  party  and 
the  beleaguered  garrison  many  buildings  had 
been  burned,  but  the  ruins,  some  still  glow- 
ing and  smouldering,  afforded  protection  and 
served  to  hide  their  approach  to  some  extent. 
Skulking  forms  flitted  about  in  the  lurid 
gloom,  and  under  the  lee  of  a  still  standing 
granary  many  Indians  were  to  be  seen  gath- 
ered at  some  task  not  apparent  from  such 
distance. 

Major  Willard  spoke,  softly  and  the  com- 
pany crept  from  the  concealment  of  the  for- 
est, keeping  as  best  they  might  under  cover 
of  the  blackened  ruins.  A  dozen  yards  were 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  GARRISON  273 

traversed  without  alarm.  Then  a  cry  went 
up  from  the  darkness  at  their  left  and  an 
arrow  sped  past  them.  A  dragoon  at  Da- 
vid's side  stopped  and  fired,  and  simultane- 
ously there  was  a  groan  from  one  farther  in 
advance  and  he  sank  into  the  arms  of  a  com- 
rade. The  Indians  were  firing  at  them  now 
from  the  direction  of  the  granary  with  mus- 
kets, while  a  number  of  arrows  came  from 
other  points.  Carrying  the  wounded  man, 
they  dashed  across  the  intervening  ground 
toward  the  garrison.  From  the  loopholes  of 
that  building  flashes  told  that  they  had  been 
seen  and  that  those  within  were  seeking  to 
protect  them  with  their  fire.  From  the  mo- 
ment of  the  alarm  until  they  had  reached  the 
portal  of  the  garrison  was  but  a  scant  space 
of  time,  and  so  sudden  had  been  their  ap- 
pearance that  the  enemy,  surprised,  confused, 
and,  doubtless,  uncertain  as  to  their  strength 
of  numbers,  presented  small  opposition.  It 
was  not  until  they  were  crowding  through 
the  door  that  the  Indians  began  to  fire  upon 
them  in  earnest.  Then,  since  they  were  well 
shadowed,  the  bullets  and  arrows  did  them  no 
hurt  save  that  one  man  received  a  trifling 
wound  in  his  hand. 
Their  appearance  was  the  signal  for  great 


274          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

rejoicing  amongst  the  inhabitants  of  the  gar- 
rison, who,  as  it  was  proved,  numbered  about 
eighty  all  told.  Captain  Wheeler  was  in  com- 
mand. Captain  Hutchinson,  who  had  been 
sorely  wounded  the  day  before,  lay  on  a  pal- 
let in  the  upper  story.  So  far  but  one  of  the 
garrison  had  been  killed  and  one  wounded 
since  they  had  taken  refuge  there.  The  In- 
dians had  attacked  ferociously  last  night  and 
again  early  in  the  afternoon,  exposing  them- 
selves far  more  than  was  usual  to  the  fire  of 
the  defenders,  so  that  it  was  reckoned  more 
than  half  a  hundred  had  been  killed.  Of  the 
relief  from  Hadley  nothing  had  been  seen  or 
heard.  Many  of  the  garrison  from  constant 
fighting  were  wearied  almost  beyond  endur- 
ance, and  with  the  arrival  of  the  reenforce- 
ments,  these  were  sent  to  rest  themselves 
while  the  dragoons  took  their  places  at  the 
firing-holes.  Food  and  ammunition  were 
plentiful,  though  with  fifty  more  on  hand  the 
water  supply  might  soon  give  out  unless  all 
partook  sparingly. 

David  took  his  place  beside  his  father 
where  a  view  of  the  village  to  the  right  of 
the  garrison  house  was  presented.  It  was 
from  that  direction  that  the  next  attack  was 
expected,  they  learned.  For  nearly  half  an 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  GARRISON  275 

hour  the  Indians  had  been  quieter  and  it  was 
believed  that  they  were  preparing  a  new  at- 
tempt to  set  fire  to  the  house.  Many  times 
they  had  tried  it,  since  they  had  found  that 
bullets  and  arrows  profited  them  little.  Last 
night  they  had  dipped  bundles  of  rags  in  oil 
and  tied  them  to  long  poles  and  with  those 
attempted  to  creep  near  enough  to  attain 
their  fiendish  object.  But  each  time  the  fire 
from  the  garrison  had  defeated  them.  They 
had  likewise  tried  fire-arrows,  but  with  even 
poorer  success.  What  new  device  they  were 
considering  remained  to  be  seen. 

It  now  seemed  that  the  enemy  was  angered 
by  the  arrival  of  the  relief,  or,  perhaps,  at 
their  own  outwitting,  for  they  fell  to  the  at- 
tack with  redoubled  fury,  firing  from  all  sides. 
Seldom  were  the  besiegers  visible  to  those 
within  the  garrison,  or,  if  visible,  they  were 
seen  so  uncertainly  that  accurate  shooting 
was  difficult.  Yet  muskets  were  discharged 
whenever  opportunity  afforded  and  quickly 
loaded  again.  The  stench  of  powder  became 
well-nigh  intolerable  within  the  house. 

While  the  firing  was  heaviest  an  exclama- 
tion from  his  father  caused  David  to  blink 
his  smarting  eyes  and  peer  more  closely  into 
the  outer  gloom.  From  around  a  corner  of 


276          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

the  granary  came  some  dark  object  that 
puzzled  all  who  gazed.  But  in  another  mo- 
ment, when  the  flickering  light  from  a  near- 
by conflagration  fell  upon  it,  it  was  revealed 
as  a  cart  piled  high  with  hemp  and  flax  and 
such  like  combustibles.  Already  fire  was 
licking  it  with  red  tongues.  In  what  manner 
it  was  propelled  was  a  mystery  at  first.  Then, 
as  it  came  nearer,  it  was  seen  that  the  In- 
dians had  spliced  many  long  poles  together, 
and  so,  from  the  shelter  of  the  darkness  and 
shadows  beyond,  were  pushing  it  backwards 
toward  the  building. 

"  An  that  thing  reaches  us  we  be  doomed," 
muttered  Nathan  Lindall,  resting  his  cheek 
to  his  musket  as  he  peered  forth. 

"  I  see  none  to  aim  at,  father,"  said  Da- 
vid. 

"  Nor  I,  forsooth !  The  villains  have  found 
them  a  pretty  strategy !  " 

"  There's  naught  for  it  save  to  charge  forth 
and  upset  the  cart  ere  it  touches  the  house !  " 
cried  one.  "  Else  we  shall  be  roasted  alive 
here!" 

At  that  instant  a  great  clap  of  thunder 
burst  overhead  that  shook  the  earth  and  for 
the  instant  silenced  the  uneasy  clatter  of 
tongues.  Then  silence  once  more,  a  silence 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  GARRISON  277 

in  which  no  musket  shot  broke,  in  which  the 
besiegers  themselves  seemed  stricken  to  in- 
action and  fear.  The  burning  cart  had 
stopped  at  a  short  distance,  its  contents  now 
flaming  prodigiously  and,  as  it  happened, 
lending  aid  to  those  in  the  house,  for  by  its 
light  the  Indians  who  pushed  from  the  end 
of  the  long  pole  appeared  dimly  in  the  back- 
ground. A  dozen  shots  burst  together  from 
the  garrison  and  some  of  the  Indians  dropped 
or  staggered  away.  But  others  took  their 
places  and  again  the  cart  came  forward.  At  his 
loophole  David  could  now  feel  the  warmth 
of  the  flames.  Suddenly  what  had  escaped 
him  before  became  apparent,  which  was  that 
back  of  the  cart,  so  close  it  was  a  marvel 
that  their  naked  bodies  were  not  scorched 
by  the  heat,  three  savages  pushed,  trusting 
to  the  bulk  of  the  cart  to  escape  detection. 
But  now  the  flames  had  revealed  them,  and 
with  a  sudden  fierce  exultation  David  drew 
down  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  until  it  covered 
the  breast  of  one  who,  not  without  a  courage 
worthy  a  better  use,  plodded  in  fair  sight 
behind  the  cart.  The  boy's  finger  pressed 
upon  the  trigger,  and  then  a  leaping  flame 
threw  its  ruddy  light  full  on  the  Indian's 
countenance  and  David's  finger  relaxed.  For 


278          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

the  face  was  the  face  of  Sequanawah,  captain 
of  the  Wachoosetts ! 

Many  thoughts  rushed  through  the  boy's 
mind  in  that  tiny  instant  of  time.  He  recalled 
Sequanawah's  numerous  kindnesses,  his  dec- 
laration of  friendship,  his  sorrow  at  parting. 
He  had  but  to  press  that  trigger  a  shade  more 
and  the  Indian's  soul  would  go  back  to  his 
Maker,  for  the  naked  breast  lay  a  fair  target 
below  him. 

"  Shoot!  " 

It  was  his  father's  voice,  almost  drowned 
by  the  concussion  of  his  own  gun  as  he  strove 
to  send  a  bullet  into  the  brain  of  one  of  Se- 
quanawah's companions.  David's  heart  con- 
tracted and  the  finger  on  the  trigger  again 
pressed  tauter.  But  that  instant  of  hesitation 
had  made  the  difference  between  life  and 
death  to  the  Wachoosett.  With  a  final  thrust, 
the  burning  cart  crashed  against  the  house 
and  the  flames  licked  the  boards  and  flared 
as  high  as  the  upper  windows.  And  in  the 
self-same  moment  a  great  flash  of  lightning 
blazed  over  the  world,  paling  the  ruddy 
flames  in  its  white  intensity.  So  unforeseen 
and  alarming  was  it  that  those  at  the  firing- 
holes  fell  back  with  gasps  of  fright.  A  terrific 
blast  of  thunder  followed  it,  and  the  house 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  GARRISON  279 

shook  in  every  timber.  When  David  sprang 
again  to  his  post  Sequanawah  and  those  who 
had  dared  with  him  were  gone.  Close  to  the 
granary  some  forms  emerged  swiftly  into  the 
shadows  and  disappeared  from  his  sight. 
From  below  came  cries  of  alarm  and  con- 
sternation, for  the  flames  from  the  cart  were 
already  eating  at  the  building. 

"Look!"  exclaimed  Nathan  Lindall. 
'  The  granary  is  on  fire !  A  lightning  bolt 
has  struck  it !  " 

So  it  was,  and  David,  peering  forth,  saw 
not  only  the  flames  bursting  from  the  high- 
peaked  roof,  but  the  forms  of  many  Indians 
swiftly  fleeing  from  its  shelter.  One  shot  he 
sped,  and  then  a  second  time  the  heavens 
opened  with  appalling  radiance,  again  the 
thunder  crashed,  and,  ere  its  last  rumble  had 
died  away,  from  the  sundered  sky  descended 
a  torrent  of  rain  such  as  none  there  had  ever 
witnessed ! 

Straight  down  it  came,  a  veritable  cataract, 
and  the  noise  of  its  falling  on  the  shingled 
roof  close  above  their  heads  was  well-nigh 
deafening.  Gazing  into  it  was  like  looking 
through  a  solid  sheet  of  water.  For  an  in- 
stant only  the  flames  of  the  burning  houses 
showed  through  the  hissing  deluge.  Then 


280          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

only  blackness  was  left  on  every  side.  The 
burning  cart  resisted  longer,  but  that,  too, 
was  soon  out,  and  through  the  house  heart- 
felt expressions  of  joy  and  thanksgiving 
arose. 

"  Now  has  the  Lord  by  a  miracle  delivered 
us  from  our  enemies !  "  cried  Nathan  Lin- 
dall.  "  Blessed  be  the  name  of  Our  Lord !  " 

"  Amen !  "  answered  all  who  heard. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
STRAIGHT  ARROW  RETURNS 

THOUGH  the  rain  was  ended  in  less  than  an 
hour,  it  had  served  to  so  dampen  the  enemy's 
spirits  that  not  again  during  the  night  did  he 
renew  the  attack.  Darkness  and  silence 
shrouded  the  garrison  so  soon  as  the  storm 
had  rumbled  away  into  the  south.  There  was 
sleep  for  some,  while  others  remained  on 
guard,  and  to  all  came  a  new  hope  and  en- 
couragement. Even  Captain  Hutchinson,  in 
bad  case  though  he  was  from  wounds  that 
caused  his  death  many  days  later,  spoke 
words  of  cheer  from  his  bed  of  pain. 

It  proved  a  long  night,  but  morning 
dawned  at  last  bringing  clear  skies  and  radi- 
ant sunlight,  the  latter  serving  to  accentuate 
the  desolation  that  met  the  sorrowful  view 
of  the  townsfolk.  Sodden  heaps  of  black- 
ened ruins  lay  on  every  side.  Only  a  few 
scattered  houses  remained  undamaged.  The 
granary  had  escaped  demolition,  though  a 
part  of  its  roof  was  gone.  At  daybreak  food 
was  eaten  and  a  service  of  prayer  and  thanks- 
giving held  in  the  garrison  house. 


282          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

It  was  shortly  after  that  a  friendly  In- 
dian, several  of  whom  had  shared  the  plight 
of  the  defenders,  uttered  an  alarm  from  his 
place  of  watching.  From  the  woods  on  the 
west  of  the  devastated  village  came  an  In- 
dian running  fast  and  straight  toward  the 
garrison  house.  Already  a  few  savages  had 
been  seen  skulking  about  the  outskirts  be- 
yond range  of  bullet,  but  this  one  was  not 
of  them.  As  David,  peering  forth  with  the 
others,  beheld  and  wondered,  arrows  sped 
toward  the  runner  from  a  patch  of  woods  at 
his  right.  They  missed  their  mark,  and  the 
Indian,  swerving,  ran  toward  the  granary 
and,  with  a  marvelous  burst  of  speed,  reached 
it  unharmed  and  placed  the  building  be- 
tween him  and  the  enemy.  As  he  came  again 
into  sight  about  the  nearer  corner,  David 
recognized  him. 

"  'Tis  Monapikot!  "  he  cried. 

"  Aye,  'tis  the  Pegan  spy !  "  called  another. 
"Unbar  the  door!" 

But  Monapikot  was  not  yet  safe,  for  a  puff 
of  smoke  arose  behind  him  and  a  bullet 
buried  itself  in  the  dirt  at  his  feet.  The  In- 
dian who  had  sighted  the  Pegan  from  the 
house  grunted,  thrust  his  musket  through  the 
firing-hole,  and  fired.  But  the  distance  was 


THEN  DAVID  WAS  HALF  PUSHING,  HALF  CARRYING 
MONAPIKOT  THROUGH  THE  DOORWAY 


STRAIGHT  ARROW  RETURNS    283 

too  great  and  more  shots  spat  about  the  run- 
ner, and  suddenly,  throwing  up  his  hands, 
Monapikot  whirled  in  his  flight,  staggered 
and  fell  flat  and  limp.  David's  heart  turned 
to  stone  within  him,  and  then  he  thrust 
aside  one  who  stood  in  his  path  and  sprang 
toward  the  door. 

But  his  father  was  before  him. 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Bring  him  in,  father !  He  may  not  be 
dead!" 

"  Nay,  lad,  you  would  but  meet  the  same 
fate." 

"  I  care  not !  He  is  my  friend,  and  if  it  be 
that  he  is  but  sorely  wounded  —  " 

There  was  a  shout  from  the  watchers. 
"He  is  up  again!  He  comes!  Twas  but  a 
trick  he  played !  The  door !  The  door !  " 

Swiftly  it  was  unbarred  and  thrown  wide. 
David,  forgetting  danger,  dashed  through  it. 
Toward  him,  swiftly,  came  the  Pegan.  An 
arrow  struck  the  ground  well  short  and 
slithered  across  the  turf.  Then  David  was 
half  pushing,  half  carrying  Monapikot 
through  the  doorway,  and  then  the  portal 
crashed  shut  and  the  great  bar  fell  back  into 
place.  The  Pegan  would  have  collapsed  had 
not  hands  helped  him  to  a  bench  whereon, 


284          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

for  a  long  moment,  he  sat  with  hanging  head 
and  laboring  lungs.  But  presently,  when  wa- 
ter had  been  given  him,  he  lifted  his  head 
and  smiled  at  David's  concerned  countenance 
and  then  told  his  story,  though  in  halting 
words. 

"  I  bring  you  word  from  Captain  Lothrop, 
at  Hadley,"  he  said.  "  The  Christian  In- 
dians there  are  unrestful  and  a  party  of  Nip- 
mucks  have  come  from  Pecomtuck  and 
threaten  trouble.  Therefore  he  sends  you 
word  that  he  dare  not  leave  Hadley,  since 
his  departure  might  encourage  both  the 
Christians  and  the  Pecomtucks  to  attack  the 
people.  I  had  no  trouble  in  reaching  the  vil- 
lage, and  there  I  rested  all  day  yesterday,  de- 
parting again  last  night  after  darkness.  Re- 
turning, I  encountered  roving  parties  of  Nip- 
mucks  and  was  twice  taken  and  questioned. 
Once  I  talked  myself  free,  but  the  next  time 
they  would  have  carried  me  back  toward 
Hadley  had  I  not  killed  one  who  held  me 
and  escaped  in  the  darkness.  Near  to  day- 
break I  found  Nipmucks  camped  half  a  mile 
west  of  here  and  had  to  go  far  out  of  my  way 
to  get  past  them.  The  rest  you  know,  bro- 
thers; save  that  the  Wachoosett  sachem, 
Woosonametipom,  lies  dead  beside  the  gran- 


STRAIGHT  ARROW  RETURNS    285 

ary  with  six  others.  I  saw  no  wounds  upon 
them  and  do  not  understand." 

"  'Twas  the  lightning !  "  exclaimed  Cap- 
tain Wheeler.  "  They  lay  close  by  the  gran- 
ary, Pikot?  " 

"  Aye,  their  bodies  be  against  the  wall." 
"  So  it  was,  then !  The  lightning  bolt  that 
struck  the  granary  and  set  fire  to  it  killed 
them  at  the  same  instant.   It  was  the  hand 
of  God,  neighbors !  " 

"They  did  not  harm  you,  Straight  Ar- 
row? "  asked  David  anxiously. 

"  Nay,  I  but  fell  that  they  might  think  me 
dead.  If  you  have  food,  I  would  eat,  for  I 
have  traveled  fast." 

An  hour  later,  while  David  and  Monapikot 
talked,  word  came  that  the  enemy  was  again 
about  to  attack  and  all  returned  to  their  sta- 
tions. Until  just  short  of  noon  bullets  and 
flaming  arrows  spattered  against  the  house, 
but  did  no  damage  to  the  defenders.  In  the 
afternoon  one  watching  from  the  upper  story 
reported  that  many  Indians  were  crossing  a 
field  to  the  southeast  as  though  in  retreat. 
By  nightfall  it  was  known  with  certainty 
that  the  siege  had  been  lifted.  Despairing  of 
taking  the  garrison,  the  Indians  retreated 
until,  the  next  day,  none  was  to  be  seen. 


286          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

Scouts,  dispatched  in  many  directions,  re- 
turned with  the  tidings  that  the  country  was 
free  of  the  enemy  for  six  miles  around.  The 
Wachoosett  village  had  been  abandoned  and 
so  with  all  other  camps  thereabouts,  and  it 
was  believed  that  Philip  and  his  cohorts 
were  heading  westward. 

Two  days  later  a  party  of  eight  set  forth 
toward  the  east.  Of  these  were  Nathan  Lin- 
dall,  David,  Obid  (still,  to  his  wonderment, 
possessed  of  his  scalp),  and  Monapikot. 
With  but  one  alarm  and  no  encounter  with 
the  enemy,  they  reached  safety  three  days 
later,  and  near  the  close  of  a  warm  August 
day  David  again  crossed  the  threshold  of  his 
home.  That  evening,  in  a  new  and  pleasant 
feeling  of  security,  for  King  Philip's  war- 
riors had  thus  far  given  the  more  settled 
country  about  Boston  a  wide  berth,  David 
sat  and  listened,  for  the  most  part  in  con- 
tented silence,  to  the  talk  of  his  father  and 
Monapikot  the  Pegan.  Now  and  then,  Obid, 
busy  with  his  duties  about  the  house,  paused 
to  add  his  shrill  voice  to  the  converse.  They 
spoke  of  the  war,  that  for  many  months 
longer  was  destined  to  keep  the  colonists  in 
uncertainty  and  terror,  and  it  was  Monapikot 
rather  than  Nathan  Lindall  who  spoke  hope- 


STRAIGHT  ARROW  RETURNS    287 

fully  of  the  future  and  predicted  the  ultimate 
confusion  of  King  Philip. 

"  He  secures  victories  only  where  the  Eng- 
lish live  apart  from  each  other,"  said  the 
Pegan.  "  To  any  bold  front  he  turns  tail  like 
a  fox.  I  fear  much  trouble  in  the  west  ere 
he  finally  skulks  to  cover,  but  if  the  Colonies 
will  join  forces  and  send  fighting  men  upon 
him  in  numbers,  he  will  flee  and  no  more 
lives  will  be  taken.  He  fears  the  winter  that 
will  soon  come,  for  he  has  many  mouths  to 
feed,  and  when  the  Indian  makes  war  he 
gathers  no  corn.  Neither,  when  the  leaves  are 
off  the  trees,  can  he  so  well  give  battle,  Mas- 
ter Lindall,  and  he  has  no  stomach  for  win- 
ter trails." 

"And  what  of  the  Narragansetts,  Pikot? 
Think  you  they  will  fully  agree  with  Philip 
and  follow  him?  " 

"  Aye,  master,  if  the  English  do  not  per- 
suade them  otherwise.  Bad  portents  come 
from  that  country  and  I  would  that  the  Gov- 
ernors gave  heed  to  such." 

They  were  still  in  discussion  when  Master 
William  Vernham  and  one  of  his  servants 
arrived  on  horseback,  and  their  neighbor, 
dismounting,  clasped  David  in  his  great  arms 
and  boisterously  gave  him  welcome  home. 


288          METIPOM'S  HOSTAGE 

"  A  brave  and  sturdy  lad  you  are,  David," 
he  declared,  "  and  I  would  I  had  one  like 
you.  You  are  well  and  unharmed  of  those 
varmints?  But  an  hour  ago  I  got  word  of 
your  coming  from  one  who  saw  you  by  Sud- 
bury  and  I  ate  my  supper  in  such  haste  that 
it  liked  to  choke  me.  And  you,  Master  Lin- 
dall  ?  You,  too,  it  seems,  have  escaped  from 
the  wolves.  But  I  see  not  Obid.  Can  it  be 
that  he  has  —  has  —  " 

"  Nay,  then,  master,"  responded  Obid 
from  the  shadow  wherein  he  sat,  "the  Lord 
brought  me  safe  through,  but  whether  to  so 
continue  or  whether  in  postponement  of  a 
direful  fate  I  know  not  yet." 

"  You  are  as  cheerful  as  ever,"  laughed 
William  Vernham. 

"  What  I  have  been  through,  master,  and 
the  sights  my  eyes  have  beheld  make  not  for 
cheer." 

"  Well,  well,  and  now  what  for  you,  Da- 
vid? Of  a  surety  you  will  have  no  mind 
for  digging  the  garden  and  milking  and  such 
like  tasks  since  you  have  tasted  of  a  sol- 
dier's life!" 

"  I  know  not,"  replied  David.  "  It  shall 
be  as  my  father  says,  though,  an  I  had  my 
wish  —  " 


STRAIGHT  ARROW  RETURNS    289 

"  What,  then?  "  prompted  Nathan  Lindall 
as  the  boy  hesitated. 

"  Why,  then,  sir,  I  would  go  forth  to- 
morrow and  seek  service  with  those  who  fight 
for  the  safety  of  the  Colonies.  Nor  would  I 
wish  to  lay  aside  my  musket  until  this  mur- 
derous Philip  be  driven  north  or  slain." 

"  Well  said !  "  cried  Master  Vernham.  "  A 
lad  after  my  own  heart,  Nathan  Lindall! 
You'll  not  say  him  nay,  I  warrant." 

"  He  shall  have  his  way,"  replied  the  host 
gravely.  "  Though  he  knows  it  not,  'tis  ar- 
ranged already.  Three  days  from  now  Mona- 
pikot  travels  south  to  the  Narragansett 
country  on  a  mission  you  may  surmise,  Mas- 
ter Vernham,  and  'tis  arranged  that  David 
shall  accompany  him.  There  may  be  less 
fighting  than  he  craves,  but  he  will  be  in 
good  hands  and  what  he  performs  will  be  of 
service  to  the  Colony." 

"  'Tis  true,  father?  "  cried  David  eagerly. 
"  'Tis  true,  Straight  Arrow?  " 

The  Pegan  smiled.  "Aye,  'tis  true,  No- 
awama.  We  take  the  trail  together,  you 
and  I.  Danger  there  will  be,  though.  Wilt 
brave  it?  " 

"  Try  me !  "  answered  David.  "  With  you 
I'll  brave  aught  that  comes !  " 


£rcss 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U  .  S  .  A 


